


The cards Fate hath dealt

by PhakeFysics



Series: Final Fantasy XIV [6]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Au Ra Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Au Ra Xaela Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Dark Knight Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Dragoon Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, M/M, Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Other, Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal Spoilers, Patch 5.4: Futures Rewritten Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:49:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 33,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28497837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhakeFysics/pseuds/PhakeFysics
Summary: For #seaswolchallenge on Tumblr.
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light, Azem/Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch
Series: Final Fantasy XIV [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2046014
Comments: 14
Kudos: 19





	1. Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> These various prompts will be jumping around the timeline of the msq so I don't end up shoving everything post 5.4
> 
> -  
> #1  
> ARR beginning.

Hear, Feel, Think. 

The mantra of all those chosen by Hydaelyn. What it meant, Hanze hadn’t the faintest clue. The Echo was still something he didn’t understand and it confused, sometimes even frightened him. Leaving his small village after the passing of his mother was no easy feat, but the feeling of being penned up as he tended to her only grew with each passing day.

He did his best to ease her suffering, but the medicine was expensive, sometimes non existent. All it was, was a process of management. With his mother’s blessing in her final last moments, she told him to follow his heart, to explore the world and not squander his youth.

Now the trip to Gridania felt as though it took neigh on years, as well as passing in the blink of an eye. 

In the moment he closed his eyes to rest, he heard it again - Hear, Feel, think.

He was at once overwhelmed and comforted. He felt safe in Her presence, yet the exchange tired him greatly. He hadn’t the faintest clue what the vision meant or how it applied to him in particular. 

He was just someone who wanted to be a humble adventurer. He just wanted to explore and do his part and live modestly. It was all he had known his whole life and he was content for it. And adventuring would keep his mind off the passing of his mother. He was alone now, but he preferred it that way.

Stepping off the wagon, Hanze looked around at the City of Gridania for the first time. 

He wondered what adventures awaited him.


	2. Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 #seaswolchallenge on tumblr.  
> -  
> Current Timeline: 5.4

If someone offered tea or hot chocolate to Hanze before he ever stepped foot into Coerthas, he’d turn it down. Too sweet, he would have said. But there was something about the way Ishgardians prepared their hot beverages that soothed the soul and warmed the bones.

It was rare enough he found himself in Ishgard, but when Cid needed cerulium for the computing processors for G’raha, he was glad that Alisaie left the task of Ishgard to him. He wondered if she knew, or cared. Regardless, he was thankful.

Ishgard had been one of the few places he still considered home, despite the shaky reception he, Alphinaud and Tataru had received. Count Edmont would always be like a father to him, and he would forever be in House Fortemps’ debt for their warm hearth and open hearts.

“Something troubles you?” the voice caught his attention, the soothing tone accompanied by the soft clink of a spoon against porcelain. He looked over to the Lord Commander - a familiar face, and a person he found unexplainable comfort in.

“Hmm? No, I simply… the restoration is coming along. I scarcely recognize some parts of Ishgard,” Hanze offered a grin, but kept his eyes down turned.

“You looked lost in thought, I was afraid you disliked your tea,” Aymeric mused, moving to take it upon himself to top off the Warrior’s cup. 

“Oh, hardly. I do enjoy the way Ishgardians prepare their tea,” Hanze chuckled, taking the cup and warming his hands with it before venturing a small sip.

Aymeric’s smile diminished slightly and a sad look caught in his gaze, “You mean the way ‘we’ make ‘our’ tea,” he corrected gently. It caused Hanze to pause.

“Aymeric I’m not an Ishgardian citizen,” he chuckled, though it carried an uncertain tone to it.

“Nonsense. You may not be Ishgardian by blood or familial ties, but you are considered one of us, nonetheless. Unless… you do not wish it so,” the elezen trailed off, worried he had overstepped.

“No, no! I... “ Hanze trailed off, heat rising to his cheeks as he stared down at his tea.

“Despite the initial… rough welcome, Ishgard has always felt like home to me. House Fortemps my family… You my-” He nearly choked, catching the potential slip as he forced the cup to his lips in a sloppy attempt at hiding his near fumble.

“- My good friend,” he cleared his throat, the words sour on his tongue. 

He didn’t notice that Aymeric’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“And you as well, my friend. My heart warms at the knowledge that you consider Ishgard your home. We both know the troubles this city had and the strife it caused between the peoples, but I want you to know that your efforts will never be forgotten. You saved us, Hanze.”

The words hit him center mast and he had trouble swallowing. “Thank you, Aymeric. I was merely doing what I could to help.”

This time the Lord commander’s smile reached his eyes, but it fell again. “Please forgive my forwardness, but… what happened? To your hair… your eyes?” his tone was gentle, soft, and filled with concern.

“Some scars are not physical lacerations along the flesh. But your men must be finished loading the airship, and the Vanu Chief is no doubt waiting for you,” Hanze took a finished swig of his tea before moving to stand.

Aymeric stood too, and Hanze saw that the elezen wanted nothing more than to pry, but he stayed silent.

“Be well, Aymeric. Perhaps one day… we will have supper together again. Until then…” Hanze hefted his two hander along his back and made to leave Borel mansion. 

What he didn’t see, was Lord Aymeric reaching out for him before retracting his hand. “Be well, my friend.”


	3. Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 3 for #seaswolchallenge on tumblr.  
> \-   
> Current Timeline: Heavensward

The crackle of a log in the fire allowed the au ra to close his weary eyes and pull the heavy wool blanket tighter around his shoulders. He allowed himself to stretch out his legs as he leaned back against the plush couch. Outside a bitter blizzard raged and he felt himself sigh softly as the heat and warmth seeped into his bones, allowing him a moment to relax.

Soft footfalls caused him to open his eyes, following the figure round the small table and plop next to him before offering him a mug of something hot. He bit his lip and took the mug with a soft noise of appreciation.

“Hot chocolate is always good for harsh nights such as this, don’t you agree?” the silver haired elezen asked, looking out the window briefly before leaning back with his own mug.

Hanze shifted uncomfortably, gripping his mug. He didn’t want to ruin this quiet moment between them. He tried shifting subtly, but the more he tried to move, the more pain shot up his spine.

After a few moments, Haurchfant sat up, worry in his eyes, “Are you well? You haven’t touched your drink,” he leaned in, which caused a soft flush across Hanze’s cheeks.

“I uhm…”

“You can tell me, my friend. I am here for you,” Haurchefant reassured, placing his hand on Hanze’s forearm.

The warmth and care in his eyes was obvious and unhidden. Hanze cared so deeply for this knight, but kept his feelings close to his chest. He could not, would not risk this friendship with the Ishgardian.

“I well… uh… you’re sitting on my tail…” he muttered, which caused the knight to bolt up, off the couch, slightly horrified, “O merciful Halone, I apologize!” He looked down at the auri’s tail as the Warrior moved it out of the way.

Hanze couldn’t resist the bubble of laughter that spilled from his lips, amused by Haurchefant’s horror. “Apology accepted… At least you didn’t step on it,” the blond warrior shrugged a shoulder, the pain in his tail easing.

Haurchefant stared down at Hanze’s tail, observing the dark scales and spikes, then laughed to himself, “Good to know that my chainmail will protect my flank from dravanian spikes, eh?” he grinned.

Hanze’s smile fell, “Au ra are not… related to dravanians… I promise you that. I am not some distant relative of Nidhogg’s brood,” He near pleaded, overly used to having to defend himself verbally from Ishgardians if stopped on the street. He still received dirty, hateful looks, knowing it was his dark scales, horns and tail that made him look far too close to the enemy.

Haurchefant’s grin dropped and he carefully resumed his spot next to Hanze, replacing his hand on the other’s arm, “No… no, I would never assume that. I know you must endure too much in Ishgard, and while I am pleased that you come visit me in Camp Dragonhead. Knowing that you must find sanctuary from your sanctuary fills me with a grief I cannot fathom,” he sighed softly.

Hanze felt his neck and cheeks burn at the elezen’s unwavering support and kindness. He couldn’t help but love him deeper than he imagined he’d ever love someone.

“I appreciate it, Haurchefant, really, I do. If not for you, where would Alphinaud, Tataru and I be? Still on the run… dead, even.” he shrugged, which forced a look of pain from the other.

“Please do not speak of that - let us instead wait this blizzard out with better thoughts, hmm?” Haurchefant offered, settling back against the couch, far too close to Hanze to be ‘just friendly’. 

“Thank you for the hot chocolate… you really must share the recipe with me,” Hanze hummed, allowing the sweet and warming beverage to warm his insides.

“Ah but if I tell it to you, then you would have nary a reason to come visit me,” teased Haurchefant, which forced more heat to Hanze’s cheeks.

“Well, I… true yes. But what if I am away from Ishgard?” Hanze countered with a pout, trying to give his best puppy dog eyes at the elezen.

“Hmm… perhaps. As long as you promise to visit me as often as you are able. I always enjoy when those close to me check in every now and then,” the Ishgardian proposed, his head on the back of the couch briefly before moving to rest against the Warrior’s shoulder, pressing their sides together.

Hanze idly wondered how red his face was at this point, but basked in the gentle warmth the other shared with him. 

-

Clearing off the snow from the Marker and Shield, Hanze set down a fresh bouquet of flowers in front of the gravemarker.

“Good Morning, Haurchefant. I brought you something from Kugane. The local merchant assured me you might like it. It’s a necklace of jade,” he explained to the ever-silent shield, before pulling a beautiful handcrafted pendant of eastern make from his pocket and setting it atop the marker.

He made a promise to the valiant knight that stole his heart all that time ago. 

A promise he would never break, come what may.


	4. Caress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 4 for #seaswolchallenge on tumblr.  
> -  
> Current Timeline: Post 5.4

He had been so enamored with the idea of sharing Norvrandtian pastries with one particular person, he hadn’t stopped to consider how forward it might seem. Hanze braced against a gust of frigid wind that pelted him as he felt his feet land on Foundation flagstone. The Coffee Biscuits and Eulmorean tarts were wrapped tightly and safe in his pack as the realization slammed him in the gut like a punch.

But the more he dallied, the colder and more stale the fresh and fluffy confections became and it would be a sore waste of food. He could… leave them with Lucia. Brilliant, that’s exactly what he would do. Drop them at her desk and leave before anyone realized he had even arrived.

Hurrying down the small staircase from the plaza and then back up the larger set towards the Congregation, Hanze shivered as he entered the doors, the guards only giving him a smart salute as he passed. No one would ever forget his face as long as Ishgard stood.

As he brushed the snow from his hair and pulled his pack from his shoulder, Lucia stood, a smile on her face. “Lord Adera, to what do we owe the most esteemed honour?” she inquired. “Oh I was merely checking in. I wanted to drop something off that I figured would boost morale,” he lied, setting his pack on the open spot of the large war table.

“I am sure seeing your face is enough to boost morale these days,” came the familiar lilting voice behind him causing him to freeze in carefully extracting the packages from his bag.

Beautiful bastard probably saw him from his office window… Note to self, never take the direct route.

Clearing his throat, Hanze recomposed himself as best he could before forcing an offer of a pleasant smile, “Of course… but I only presumed that perhaps-”

“Then let us take this conversation to my office,” Aymeric smiled ever so pleasantly, but Hanze could hear the ‘we need to talk’ under the practiced, honeyed words.

Slowly closing his pack, Hanze dared a desperate glance to Lucia who simply smiled at him, effectively throwing him to the wolves. There seemed little choice in the matter now and he nodded, looking back to Aymeric, nodding “Of course.”  
-  
His office was the same as ever and Hanze hesitated briefly, not wanting to be too forward in taking a chair at the desk.

“May I take your coat?” Offered Aymeric, forcing the au ra out of his daze as he blinked the cloud of thoughts clear from his head, “I oh… if you wish,” he muttered, moving to unfasten his heavy winter coat that he wore whenever in Coerthas.

He had to resist shrugging it off himself as Aymeric’s deft and gentle hands grabbed the lapels and gently lifted it from his shoulders. It was then that Hanze realized he had indeed fucked up when he remembered that Katliss at the Crystalline Mean had insisted on fitting him to a new coat to go with his new job as a red mage. She called it the Exarchic line and it was, frankly, not something Hanze would have ever been caught dead wearing, but it was sturdy and durable, and he had, in all honesty, forgotten to change out of it.

Aymeric must think him some sort of harlot.

It was then Hanze realized Aymeric had been silent and he dared to glance over his shoulder, “Is something amiss?” he ventured, as Aymeric quickly turned to hang up his coat, “I see you are dabbling in that art of… what is it called? The Red Mage?” He offered with his ever pleasant smile before moving to settle behind his desk.

“Ah, yes…” Hanze managed, glancing down at the finely crafted rapier at his hip. “It also does not… allow for heavy armor as it requires more maneuverability than I had initially perceived, hence needing to dress down somewhat,” Hanze somehow managed to keep some semblance cool under the pressure of Aymeric watching him closely; more than likely judging how much skin was on display. 

_Dress down somewhat?_ Hanze mentally chided himself. _You are bordering naked. Who ever thought this was a good design choice was clearly deluded. Imagine leaving weak points exposed in combat. Absolutely baffling they call this combat gear._

“It is a fair and reasonable change of pace from your usual heavy armor and greatsword. How is the magic treating you?” Aymeric motioned for Hanze to sit, which the au ra reluctantly did.

“It is… different. I control two magics to meld into one, but that is not why I came,” he waved a dismissive hand at the topic of conversation regarding his new magical undertaking and moved to pull the packages from his bag.

Setting them on the desk, he unceremoniously pushed them across the free space of the desk. “From Norvrandt… they’re very good,” he blurted hurriedly, face and neck burning as he moved to dig further into his bag. He then remembered he had bought something else and stared at the glinting bracelet in the dark recess of his pack. It had been so beautiful on display and all he could think about was how it would match Aymeric’s eyes. But whatever courage he had accumulated in the First seemed to stay there as he now felt the anxiety boil in his gut. 

Too forward, too overt, too much.

His attention was caught at the sounds of paper being unwrapped and he watched Aymeric stare at the beautiful crafted pastries, “Well this calls for tea, now doesn’t it?” he smiled.

“I well uh… I did mention to Lucia…” he trailed off, knowing that Aymeric knew it was a lie.

It did not help that Hanze was an exceptionally bad liar at the worst of times, especially when trying to lie to a seasoned veteran politician that could dance around the inner Ishgardian politics of the high houses. There was no lying to this man, no matter how good one thought they were.

Of course Aymeric had the ever prevalent grace to _not_ mention that he had caught the au ra in his obvious and blatant lie. “Well, uh… the biscuits are called coffee biscuits and Ryne mentioned that they are best with coffee… unfortunately I did not have the foresight to bring any with me,” he admitted.

“Well then, an Ishgardian blend will just have to keep, won’t it?” offered Aymeric cheerfully as he moved to send for some to be sent up. “And who is this Ryne, if I may?” Hanze wasn’t sure what to make of the question, but he dared not assume anything outside of a simple question for curiosity’s sake.

“Ah… she is a friend from the First. I visit her when I can, considering the other Scions cannot anymore,” he shrugged, again made acutely aware of his bare shoulders and exposed collar bone. Swallowing down the nerves, Hanze closed his pack and set it aside for now.

“Ah, how unfortunate. Master Alphinaud’s report was… interesting to say the least. Is that where… Hanze what _happened_? The report was formal and brief, only assuaging fears of Alliance leaders, but I want it from your lips,” the elezen pleaded softly and Hanze felt compelled to run. Run like he always did. 

But the desperate plea in Aymeric’s eyes ensnared him and he couldn’t find the strength to leave the chair. How much should he tell the other? Hanze only skimmed the report before it was copied and sent off and it was surprisingly light. Obviously void on the subject of Elidibus and what had transpired between the two of them down in the Tempest.

Hanze moved to lean back and drape one leg over the other as he chewed his bottom lip, staring down at the edge of Aymeric’s desk. Aymeric offered another soft plea as his hand slid across the desk in a heartfelt bid to entice the truth from the Warrior.

Hanze bit down on his lip harder, debating. His chest hurt from keeping everything in so long. He was tired, exhausted, purely and utterly devoid of energy anymore. 

So he told. He told all. Every scrap of detail. Every moment of agony. Aymeric wanted to know. Well then the Warrior would give him the truth. All of it. Diplomatic protocol be damned, Aymeric was different.

By the end of it, he felt as though he had vomited the entirety of his stomach contents. He felt physically and emotionally empty, his cup of coffee long cold. He hadn’t even noticed the attendant bring the tray up as he spoke and relived the horror in his mind’s eye.

After Hanze was done, he lifted a hand to rub his face. Thankfully there were no tears. He no longer had any to shed. All that remained was null. Aymeric rose from his chair and circled around to the au ra, kneeling next to the chair and taking one of Hanze’s hands in between his own and clasping it tightly.

The sudden warmth shocked some feeling back into his body and the cold numbness began to recede. 

“And that business… with these… Lightwardens? The heavy amount of aetheric light on your soul..?” Aymeric ventured, searching Hanze’s changed and darkened eyes.

He didn’t - no, he couldn’t bear to meet Aymeric’s gaze, “I do not remember much and the others refuse to tell me… but their silence alone is enough to tell me that I had briefly succumbed. I can’t imagine how I hurt them… or what they had to do to subdue me. Without Ryne… I would be a maddened beast, destroying the land and its inhabitants,” he explained numbly.

He heard the breath hitch in Aymeric’s throat, strong yet thin hands gripped his tighter, acting as if he let go, that the mere thought of Hanze having almost become a lightwarden himself would suddenly unravel him and it would be true.

The Ishgardian’s touch was enough to pull Hanze from his numbness and he sat up slightly, offering a light smile to Aymeric and using his free hand to pat the top of the elezen’s gently. “Now how about those biscuits? The Eulmorean tarts are very good. But try not to indulge in too many; Norvrandtian pastries are notoriously fattening,” he grinned.

Aymeric’s visage of distraught concern soon melted into something more pleasant, but the worry still lingered in his gaze and he was reluctant to pull away after several more heartbeats.

“Knowing that I was unable to be there to assist-”

“Aymeric, don’t do that,” interrupted Hanze, watching the Lord Commander return to his seat behind the desk.

“Beg pardon?”

“While all this was going on, the Alliance needed you at the Ghimlyt Dark. I felt much better knowing that you were here - keeping Eorzea safe while I was preoccupied,” he stated gently, reaching forward to pour them fresh cups of coffee.

Aymeric only sighed, but stayed quiet as he watched Hanze pour their coffee and set their pastries on respective plates. He watched as the au ra moved and how his muscles pulled and rippled under his skin. The way the scales along his neck and shoulders shined and reflected the light. He wanted nothing more than to know how they felt against his fingers. 

While he did enjoy the other strutting around in his armor, this left little to the imagination and the Lord Commander was not opposed to that in the slightest. 

He was pulled from the beginnings of indecent thoughts when Hanze took his seat once again and warmed his hands with his mug of coffee before venturing a sip.

Aymeric turned his attention to the plate of colorful and buttery looking confectionaries and ventured a small bite, tasting it on his tongue. “Well?” Hanze inquired innocently after allowing Aymeric to indulge in a few more bites. 

“This is exceptional. I will have to call upon you to deliver more in future… or simply procure a recipe,” Aymeric decided. Though, calling on the Warrior and seeing him as often as possible was far more palatable to the Ishgardian.

Hanze only offered a soft smile, something so rare and beautiful to behold. Aymeric would gladly pull down the heavens themselves to indulge in that smile as often as he could.

“I could… try, but the culinarians at the Crystarium are notorious for keeping trade secrets close to their chests. Besides… I imagine some ingredients such as the fruit in the tarts are different than here in the Source,” he mused, picking a tart from his own plate and taking a bite.

“I find it… fascinating… that somehow the world has been split into mirrored shards. I wonder what The First’s reflection of Coerthas is…” he trailed off, which earned him a pleasant chuckle. He was clearly on the right track, having earned not only a smile but a laugh as well. Today was shaping up to be a very fine day.

“The kingdom was called Voeburt. Sadly the inhabitants no longer live there. A terrible flood wiped out much of the kingdom. But Instead of a frozen waste of ice and snow, it is warm with pastoral fields of wildflowers. It is home to the fae now, and they call it Il Mheg. I must admit it took me quite a while to make the connection myself,” he washed his pastry down with a drink of coffee.

“Truely? How fascinating,” Aymeric smiled, taking the time to take a drink from his own cup as he watched the Warrior, simply enjoying the view on the opposite side of his desk. A pleasant and most welcome change of scenery than that of Lords and Ladies beseeching his attention.

“It was… and the fae are a very tricky sort, but all it really served was to make me a bit homesick,” Hanze offered, past a bite of coffee biscuit. Yes, he had already admitted Ishgard served as a home for him in previous conversation, but the notion always did make Aymeric’s heart melt that much more. If it meant the Warrior would always find his way back to Ishgard… back to Aymeric, then the Lord Commander would welcome the taller with open arms.

“Sadly, I must take my leave. No doubt I have taken up much of your time,” Hanze moved to stand, despite his body giving a surge of protest at the tire of aches and pains.

“So soon? You must be exhausted from your trip,” Aymeric pressed gently, plainly ignoring that the au ra was correct and the shadow of paperwork still loomed over the elezen more and more as the minutes ticked.

“Well.. I was going to head to the Forgotten Knight.. It’s close,” he shrugged, which pulled a frown against Aymeric’s lips. “Nonsense. See yourself to Borel Manor and my attendant will see you to a guest room,” he waved dismissively.

Hanze paused. The idea of a plush bed with cozy silken sheets was something he rarely indulged in and if the esteemed Lord Commander de Borel would offer it so freely… his back would certainly thank him for it on the morrow.

“Of course, it would be remiss of me to be a poor guest and turn down your generous offer,” Hanze ventured evenly.

“And far be it from me to dare and be a poor host,” added Aymeric, a smile allowing his words to lilt happily.

Hanze stood, debating and debating and debating as he reached for his pack. He had spent good gil on it - sod it.

“Oh and one more thing. Something more permanent from the crafters courtesy of the Crystarium,” Hanze retrieved the bracelet from a safe inner pocket and set it in front of Aymeric. “A token of my thanks and appreciation of your friendship,” the words were strained and heavy on his tongue.

Aymeric’s eyes flew to the dazzling and carefully crafted bracelet. It glinted with precious gems and stones. Something worth a pretty gil, no doubt. His heart hammered in his chest as he watched the Warrior’s retreating back, watching briefly as he made to pull on his coat.

Aymeric picked the finely crafted piece of jewelry up and allowed it to slide through his fingers, watching it catch the light like a ripple of water. By the time he finally looked up to thank the other, the door was already shutting.

Aymeric allowed the heat to rise to his cheeks and to the tips of his ears as he looked back down at the bracelet and went to clasp it around his wrist. It was not something he typically wore, but he knew it would be something to never leave his person during his every waking hour.


	5. Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 5 0f #seaswolchallenge on tumblr.  
> -  
> Current Timeline: Stormblood DRG class quest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: RATED AS 'M' FOR IMPLIED SEXUAL CONTENT!!

Blood. 

It’s all he could taste was blood. They had assisted Orn Khai in quelling the madness in Faunehm and Hanze could only feel pain. He hadn’t expected Estinien to show up, let alone assist him. Admittedly it felt nice to fight alongside his old friend again. Their competition was always somewhat friendly. Mayhap they could find a chance to spar again one day.

But all Hanze could do was smile with his lips tightly shut to keep the blood filling his mouth from seeping out. The strangled itch of needing to cough up the blood tickled his throat and he tried to quietly clear it as the dravanians spoke at length. 

Only once they made their way back out to the plains of the Steppe did Hanze find a spot some yalms away to cough and choke and spit dark globs of blood into the grass. His insides hurt as if he had swallowed razor wire. He had tapped into something during that fight and all he could do was let it overtake him and course through his body with an incredible power he could ill conceive.

“Hanze…” came the even call of his name and he looked up through blurred vision at Estinien’s form. “Ah… I see… come, let us find refuge for the evening,” he surmised, taking Hanze’s arm around his shoulders and bearing the au ra’s weight as they stumbled across the Steppe to the Mol tribe’s encampment. Their healers fussed and fretted over Hanze before he made to shoo them off with a smile, his teeth and lips no doubt stained gruesomely. 

After being set up in a smaller tent, Hanze situated himself in prying himself free of his armor. 

“They made us…. I believe it is stew,” came Estinien’s voice as he entered the tent with two bowls of something hot in his hands. Hanze only spared his comrade a glance as he washed his mouth out and freeing his tongue of the taste of copper. 

“You must be curious as to what happened to you after our disagreement with Faunehm,” stated the Ishgardian as a matter-of-factly, moving to set himself at the small table with their food.

“Yes,” came the au ra’s reply as he stumbled over to the empty chair and nearly collapsed into it.

“Blood of the dragon,” was all the elezen replied before stuffing a spoonful of food into his mouth.

“There was indeed a lot of blood. Is that going to happen every time?” Hanze asked tiredly, maneuvering his spoon around the chunks of vegetables in his stew.

“No. You get used to the surge of power and the control that must accompany it. It seems to be the vestigial remains of supping on dravanian power,” Estinien explained with a shrug.

“Or in your case, drinking deeply,” Hanze attempted his hand at a bit of levity but he only received the iconic scowl from the other. “Is it… supposed to hurt every time?” 

“No… it becomes normal enough to tap into the power of your own will with minimal pain or side effects. I imagine yours is very different from mine seeing as well… you know,” he trailed off, not wanting to delve too deeply.

Hanze could only nod in agreement. A deeply traumatic time for the both of them.

“I am just glad to see you well, Estinien,” The au ra admitted, daring a nibble of food against his churning stomach. It seemed to quell the pain, so he dared another spoonful.

“And I, you. I always did enjoy our spars and friendly competition. Now...what with travelling, time rarely does allow for visits. It just so happened our paths should cross,” he explained evenly.

“Ah well… that is well and good,” conceded Hanze, knowing what it meant to be constantly on the move. Especially nowadays where any moment of inaction could cost Doma and Gyr Abania momentum in their respective revolutions.

Finishing his food, Estinien pushed his empty bowl away and stood to double check the entrance to their tent was tightly fastened against the cold Steppe night before moving to one of the bed rolls set out.

Hanze was not far behind in settling into his own bed roll, propping the pillow and settling onto his back with a sigh as his spine gave a gentle pop. His eyes had barely closed when he heard a brief shift and felt a weight settle on top of him.

Opening his eyes, he looked up to find Estinien straddling his hips, a long forgotten look in his eyes. “Another note about the power of the dragon… it makes the blood run awfully hot,” He smirked, thin fingers running along the au ra’s clothed chest.

“Estinien… we haven’t… you can’t expect to disappear with no word, then resume the childish antics we once partook in together,” grumbled Hanze, but he found his hands trailing up the elezen’s thighs planted on either side of him. 

The titular scowl returned, but Estinien made no point to move from his spot. “No, I suppose not. I never could have your heart, could I?” he muttered. 

“You will always have a place in my heart. _You_ are the one who runs off and refuses to cultivate anything more than a passing night of passion. I have always been here. You dug this grave yourself, Wyrmblood,” the au ra frowned.

Despite the heavy words seeming to cow the Ishgardian for a brief moment, he still refused to move from his perch. “One more night?” he dared to turn a pleading gaze down towards the other.

Hanze squinted skeptically, but he could not deny the remnants of adrenaline coursing through him demanding an outlet, a release.

“One more night. Then I’m done. We can’t keep going on like this.”

“Why not?” the demand came as fiercely as the lips did. He never was a gentle lover, but then again, there was never anything gentle between them. It was purely physical, a deep primal need for satisfaction, for release.

At first, it had been something softer, kinder. But with how distant they had grown, there was no love there. They were confidants, but no longer friends. 

But even after the passage of time, the passion came easily, the mental map of each others’ bodies hazy but present.  
-  
The next morning was a quiet one. The two silently returned to their armor, ignoring the bites and nail marks maring their skin. 

“As I told you; I’m not doing this anymore,” Hanze broke the silence as he fastened his breastplate around his person.

“And I heard. I will miss you.”

“Me or what I offer?”

“Why can it not be both?”

“Because you missed your chance, Estinien. And I am not waiting for you. Not in this life...Not anymore.”

“A fool until my dying breath, it would seem,” came the bitter reply.

Hanze looked over at the other, noting the sour expression. He couldn’t leave the other on such a low note. Moving over, he gently gripped the other’s chin and lifted it to make Estinien meet his gaze. Hanze then planted a soft kiss onto the other’s lips. Not a heated, lust filled one, but one that poured his love for the Ishgardian into it. He did care for Estinien, his inner naive and younger self still promising to remember the dragoon fondly.

Estinien returned the kiss with a chaste and gentle press, but they only let it linger in the sweetness deserved of it.

“Do not think me cold, Estinien. I will always care for you. But we cannot keep chasing the long dead ember of our bygone days,” Hanze offered, not yet pulling away fully. He could see the hidden pain in the other’s eyes as he pressed their foreheads together briefly. 

“We will find our happiness… just not with each other. Not in this life.”

All the Ishgardian could do was swallow down his sorrow and nod as the other dragoon pulled away and left the tent after grabbing his things.

The days of the Azure Dragoons were truly at an end.


	6. Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 6 of #seaswolchallenge on tumblr.  
> -  
> Current Timeline: 5.4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will not apologize.

Giving a tired groan to the dark room, Hanze stretched against the plush, warm silks as he buried his face into the pillow, breathing in the freshly laundered scent of the Borel Manor. 

He had hardly managed to stumble out of his clothes before crashing into the bed the evening prior. The cared for linens were of the highest quality and felt nice against his skin. No pulling or getting caught along the scales of his body like many generic Inn bed linens tended to. 

His hair was splayed across his face and pillow, settling in his eyes but he didn’t bother moving it and simply sunk back into the mattress, refusing his restless mind the need to get up. He could very much get used to this. He could have easily sought refuge at Fortemps Manor, but Aymeric’s estate was closer to the stairs leading from the Foundation. Not to mention in the early moments of the waking hours, he was awake before his mind was, and he basked in the scandal. 

How scandalous for the Warrior of Light to be seeking a bed in the Lord Commander’s estate. Nevermind it was a properly prepared guest room, and nevermind Lord de Borel’s penchant for being a most gracious host. No, the gossip of the nobles didn’t care. They would talk if they knew. And no doubt _someone_ already knew.

Let them talk. Let them think the most scandalous and indecent thoughts of what the two did behind closed doors when they thought no one was watching. It made Hanze chuckle tiredly into the pillow. What hog wash. To think they would ever do more than pass pleasantries and polite conversation. A ridiculous notion, but he supposed the nobles needed something to talk about besides politics and economy.

Forcing himself to sit up in bed, Hanze heaved a yawn so long his jaw popped, forcing a wince from him. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he looked around the dark room, feeling like a mess. He wanted nothing more than to flop back against the mattress and sleep. However, he had crashed into the bed somewhere between late afternoon and early evening and had slept through the entire night. He was absolutely ravenous.

He had never slept so deeply or so well in… neigh on months until this point, but he also wanted a hot meal. Sparing a glance over to the fireplace, there were the dark crimson embers remaining of a fire clinging to the last vestiges of life. He never recalled starting it and only assumed a staff member had quietly set it for him as he slept. Now that he looked over, his clothes were neatly folded and placed to the side as well - and he had thrown them off and dumped them wherever they landed. They looked clean and laundered as well.

The decadent luxury was deeply appreciated, but also set him on edge. It always felt… wrong somehow. Now that his mind awoke more and more, he felt the chills of nervous energy cascade down his spine. He had to leave. 

People would talk, they always talk. The more it dawned on him, the more he moved to hurriedly dress and brush his hair through to leave; escape. Hobbling and stumbling into his boots, Hanze hurried across the room and threw open the curtains to see the fledgling tendrils of dawn approaching. Unlatching the balcony door, he flung it open, only to be greeted with a painful gust of icy wind piercing his skin. 

He had to leave, people would talk. 

He collided with the railing of the balcony and peered down - he was three stories up. He could slide down the rain gutter and onto that lamp post nearby and be out.

But then he hesitated. No… no if eyes were already watching, it would look far more suspect of him escaping via a window. It would paint the guilt heavy upon his shoulders. He had to face going through the front door. Maybe if he left now, he would be gone before Aymeric awoke-

A knock on his door nearly forced a startled yelp from his throat, but he managed to keep it down as he turned to hurriedly close the balcony door and redraw the curtains. “Enter,” he called pretending to still be fussing with his hair.

In walked the elderly manservant, the ever pleasant smile on his face. Clearly a staple under the Borel roof. “Good morning Lord Adera, I did not wish to wake you, but heard you moving about your room. I take it your accommodations were to your satisfaction?” He asked, folding gloved hands in front of him politely.  
Hanze paused in his furious brushing of his knotted hair and nodded, “As always, Ser. I was far more exhausted than I initially estimated,” he returned the pleasantries expected of a proper house guest.

“That does so warm my heart to hear. Lord de Borel was loath to wake you for supper last evening, however wished to extend the offer into an early breakfast?”

Of course another missed dinner… Such was their fate. Broken promises and unfulfilled wishes. Why did Aymeric even waste his time and effort on the au ra?

“I uh… now?”

“Or at your earliest convenience. My Lord understands you are an exceedingly busy man and must see to your duties. He of course understands if you must decline and reschedule at a later date,” responded the manservant.

“No I… yes. An Adventurer needs to eat, does he not?” he forced a smile to his lips, perhaps showing too many teeth. He hated showing his fangs.

Giving a bow, the manservant smiled, “The Lord will be most pleased to hear it, and I shall make sure the kitchen staff prepare ample hot and filling food to keep you on your way,” he stated before leaving.

Hanze stared at the door for several moments, waiting for the footsteps to recede down the hall before hanging his head back with a groan. Gods dammit… So much for his expert and stealthy escape.  
-  
Of course Ishgardian food was made to stick to the ribs and keep the cold away, but now that trade had broken the dam of isolation, there were familiar fruits from Gridania, spiced meats from Ul’dah and baked fish from Limsa. Hanze even spied a bowl of Doman Persimmons on one end of the table. 

Aymeric was considerably dressed down, but no less finer dressed than he usually was. Gone was the blue and golden Commander’s armor and in its place he wore a sleek, but no less elegant coat that seemed to be something new to Ishgardian fashion. Their culture was being influenced at such a rapid pace, Hanze could scarcely believe it. They finally had the ability to flourish and grow past endless wars and begin to heal festering wounds, so why not the change of pace?

Setting down a paper he had been reading, Aymeric offered Hanze a smile as he entered the large dining room. “Good morning, my friend. I trust you slept well?”

“Mmm, like the dead,” replied Hanze as a servant pulled out a chair for him. It still prickled at his nerves to be waited on in such a manner. He was not used to the finer things in life. Even after his time living as a ward to the Fortemps family.

Looking over the spread, Hanze couldn’t resist a smirk, “I see trade is treating Ishgard well,” he mused, picking up a persimmon and allowing himself a bite. “Mmm, did you know there’s a way to… not ferment, per say, but allow them to cure in a jar that makes them all the sweeter? The Domans perfected this technique. The fruits gain a white coat of crystallized sugar around them,” he rattled off idly, not paying attention to Aymeric’s expression.

The elezen merely smiled brightly, “I had never heard of such a thing. First pastries from another world, now secret techniques of curing fruit from our eastern allies. What else haven’t you shared with me?” he mused, resting his chin on the back of his hand coyly.

Hanze paused briefly, sparing a glance across the table towards the Ishgardian. He used biting into the fruit as a stalling tactic as he searched the curves and angles of that picture perfect face. How those eyes bore into him, how that tilt at the corners of his lips made Hanze positively weak.

He chewed slowly, thoughtfully, and he saw Aymeric’s smile twitch a bit into something wider. 

Oh.

Oh no.

Aymeric had him and they both knew it. Never try to out-subterfuge a politician.

“What...do you wish to know?”

Yes, perfect. Deflect a question with a question.

Aymeric only chuckled softly, leaning back, “Tell me more of this vision of Amaurot,” he mused. Hanze paused in his chewing and felt a wave of melancholy wash over him.

“It’s…It was eerily beautiful. But it was real. Impossible spires reaching further than even the tallest spires of Ishgard, with carefully manicured lawns and foliage just perfectly so. The people that lived there knew nothing of conflict or hate for their fellow man and all ideas were shared and welcomed. It is as I had mentioned yesterday; all we know is that the star grew sick… a terrible - something; a noise. Fears became reality, and in a desperate bid for salvation, like every desperate bid for salvation; the people called upon their god Zodiark.” Hanze looked over to Aymeric, locking eyes with him for the first time ever since having returned, changed.

“But we know what Primals need to live. What they want,” his tone was grave and serious.

“A section broke off. Enough was enough. And thus; Hydaelyn was born. And she destroyed Zodiark, thus shattering the star. And here we are.”

Aymeric hummed in thought, “And that the Calamities are borne of… shards rejoining.”

“And a whole host of lives snuffed out with an unceremonious silence. Mark me, Aymeric; I have no love of Ascians. Their maddened hatred of us does not excuse their monstrous injustices. They thought us no better than a passing ant under their boots. But remember; they once lived and they just wanted to return home. It did not excuse the fact that they needed to be stopped. And I do not regret ending the cycle of madness. For now, at the very least.”

“And full glad am I that you suffered so on our behalf,” Aymeric’s tone was soft and gentle, seeing the chord he had struck in the other.

“They fought for their home and failed. I fought for mine and succeeded. There is naught more to it. They made their beds and refused to lie in it.” Hanze bit coldly, but heaved a sigh.

“Forgive me… I… have mixed feelings. The entire time I was down there… I felt a melancholy that pressed upon me all that I have lost. And I was not sure whether it was the biased puppeteering of Emet-Selch, or my own conviction to fight for what I had yet to lose,” he sighed.

Aymeric forced himself to stay in his seat, wanting nothing more than to reach out and touch the other and provide the warm reassurance he so dearly wanted to give.

But Hanze smiled softly at him, though Aymeric could see the lingering sadness behind it.

“But you are home now. You saved our lives, you saved the lives of those on the First. You have the right of it; they made their beds and their choices. We just need to make better ones,” he smiled, not wanting to start the morning off on a sour note.

“All we can do is learn from those who have walked before us and try to make better choices. And I think we are doing alright,” Hanze added, his tone gentle.

Hanze then looked to the left, out of the large window overlooking the lower city, “The sunrise is beautiful, isn’t it?” He offered, but Aymeric wasn’t looking at the sunrise or out the window at all.

“Yes… a picture of loveliness in all its forms.”


	7. Starlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 7 pf #Seaswolchallenge on tumblr  
> -  
> Current Timeline: Post 5.3

It had only been a few weeks since he had returned everyone back home after their final goodbyes. He was free to return whenever he could, and he did - it was nice to see Ryne again, and even befriend Gaia (as much as she considered him a ‘friend’). She wasn’t hostile towards him and that’s all he could ask for.

It felt odd to celebrate the cold, wintery season - the Starlight festival where everyone gave and spent time together. Hanze would normally be spending an evening with his fellow Scions, but not this year. He didn’t have the heart to really celebrate it with others.

As he sat on a tall cliff in Western Thanalan, he stared up at the night sky, enjoying the gentle breeze blowing past him. His chocobo curled up next to him, dozing contentedly as they took a much needed break from it all. Out here, the sky was clear and the stars twinkled beautifully. He would never take this sight for granted ever again - not after his ordeal in the First.

“I thought I’d find you out here,” came a soft voice, and Hanze opened his eyes to glance over his shoulder at G’raha offering a sheepish smile.

“Shouldn’t you be back at the Rising Stones?” Hanze quirked an eyebrow, to which the miqo'te’s ears pinned back, a hand nervously rubbing at his arm. A quirk he had noticed G’raha picked up after returning to the Source. Perhaps a phantom pain that yet lingered.

“Well… I- er, we wondered where you were for the festival and…” He trailed off, perking up and scurrying over at noticing the Warrior pat the empty spot next to him.

“I just… needed some time to think,” Hanze admitted, casting his gaze back up at the sky.

“I understand. You’ve scarcely had much of a moment to yourself, I imagine… you didn’t seem too pleased after getting us all home. Hanze I… I know you don’t like to burden us, but you could never-”

“It’s alright, ‘Raha. I know my actions were worrying. I just… cope differently than most. I do not believe I will ever be the same as I once was. And, do not think it your fault. Things… happened to me in the First that not even the other Scions realize…and I mean to keep them from worrying. It will not hinder my focus on the battlefield I assure you,” he explained calmly.

“I don’t care about your battlefield focus!” the crimson haired miqo'te blurted, his ears pinned back and low in anger. The brief flash of fury behind his deep ruby eyes.

Blinking, Hanze looked at him in confusion, which prompted a sigh from G’raha, “Please stop thinking as though we only care about you as a sword to be swung and nothing more. We care about _you_. You’re a Scion; a friend and ally,” his voice softened as he scooted closer and placed a comforting hand on the au ra’s shoulder.

Hanze hummed softly, giving a light nod, “Perhaps…” was all he offered, not wanting to sour the mood further by admitting that sometimes it felt better to be a mindless weapon and naught more.

G’raha’s ears drooped briefly before a look of determination overcame him and he scooted closer, forcing himself under Hanze’s arm and attaching himself to the Warrior’s side.

“What are you-”

“Shh. You need this whether you like it or not,” came the response, but the miqo'te couldn’t help but melt slightly at being so close to the one he admired so keenly.

It took a few uncertain heartbeats before Hanze slowly returned the hug, carefully resting his face in G’raha’s hair and feeling the other’s ears twitch against his horns.

The hug was gentle and warm; kind, working its way through the cracks in Hanze’s defenses. 

He couldn’t begin to understand all that G’raha had gone through, but he found an unexplainable kinship. They had both suffered greatly in their own ways and he could only hug the miqo'te tighter.

He didn’t realize how much they both needed the comfort.


	8. Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 8 for #seaswolchallenge on tumblr.  
> -  
> Current Timeline: 5.4 (Following #6 Dawn)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly OOC? Never heard of it.

Despite the lovely, rather warm day in Coerthas, Aymeric’s mood was lacking its usual lustre. He was exhausted, pure and simple. Between the delegates of the high houses, the merchants of the jeweled crozier and the representatives of the Firmament all requiring his attention in one form or another, Aymeric was at his breaking point. But ever the dutiful Lord Commander, he had nary a reason to take a break. It would just mean the work would pile up faster and be more of an issue once he returned.

There was naught for it other than to keep trudging forward. And trudge he did, right to the firmament. Francel had asked him to accompany him on the final walkthrough of the next step to restoration, and so Aymeric obliged, despite wishing to reschedule. He had a duty to the people of Ishgard and the faster the restoration concluded, the faster citizens could see a proper roof over their heads.

Francel was always kind and dutiful, asking the bare minimum of the Lord Commander, for which Aymeric was grateful. He was doing his best to listen, but his exhaustion was weighing on him more and more as he spoke at length with the young elezen.

Luckily the meeting was brief and as Aymeric was making his way to leave, a familiar shape caught his eye. He paused near the gate and watched as one of the airships made its return descent from an expedition in the Diadem. He watched a few of the workmen mill out and who else should file out of the air ship, a sac full of raw materials slung over his shoulder; the Warrior of Light.

Aymeric knew the other had been helping, but he was unsure in what capacity. It seemed a more hands-on capacity, which did not surprise and all at once surprised Aymeric. He watched the other wait his turn in the queue for materials inspection, tail swishing idly as he swiped his tomestone with one hand, heaving a bored, or perhaps, tired yawn.

Aymeric, as usual, found himself captivated by the other. He had realized long ago how much he cared for the au ra. He recalled when the fractured Scions sought asylum within Ishgard’s walls. How dismissive to their plight he had been. He didn’t trust them. Master Alphinaud was nothing more than a child with delusions of grandeur, playing at politician and diplomat. And Hanze...well… an Ishgardian’s prejudice against Dravanians was long bred into him and expected. Aymeric saw the black scales and horns and kept wary of the Warrior. It was an ugly predisposition, one that he would be forever ashamed of.

How happy he was to have been utterly and wholly wrong. And as Hanze and the Scions brought about an end to the Dragonsong War, Aymeric fell more and more in love with the Warrior. But time never allowed them much of each other's company. 

But now…

“Odd to find you here,” stated a voice, bringing Aymeric out of his tired inner thoughts. Blinking back to the present, he found the object of his affections standing in front of him, long, pale hair tucked under a wide brimmed hat, a smudge of dirt across his cheek.

“Oh! Forgive me, I was elsewhere,” he smiled.

But Hanze did not return it. It was just the two of them near the gate. “Let’s get you home,” he stated, moving to usher Aymeric out of the Firmament.

“Ah no, thank you, I really must be getting back. There is much work that must needs be done,” Aymeric waved a dismissive hand. But he only received a firm look for a brief moment before it turned sad.

“Aymeric… I can see that you are at your physical limit. You need rest,” urged the other and Aymeric was tempted. So, so very utterly tempted by the idea of his bed and the hours of sleep it provided.

“I understand that, however, the work will not complete itself,” Aymeric countered, trying to straighten up, to shake off the exhaustion.

“Hmm.” Was all Aymeric received as Hanze stepped away and rang a retainer’s bell. A bright eyed viera bounded up to him not long after and he exchanged a few words with her before hefting his pack to her. She gave him a comical half salute and wink before skipping off towards the market boards.

Returning to Aymeric, Hanze opened the door to the Firmament gate, leading back towards the Foundation. “Then allow me to at least walk you back,” he smiled. Aymeric nodded gratefully, “I would be delighted in the company,” he replied.

As soon as the gates to the Firmament closed, Aymeric made to cut through the Brume and head up towards the Congregation, but his path was blocked by the other. “Hanze what-”

He had nary a moment for another word as he suddenly found himself scooped up and unceremoniously slung over the other’s broad shoulder with ease. “Wh- Hanze, this is highly uncalled for!” He flushed from his neck to the tips of his ears, his face burning as he was carted up the steps towards the Pillars, folded over the other’s shoulder. How embarrassing to be reduced to this.

There was protest for approximately six steps until his exhaustion and flustered nerves won out. To think the other was strong enough cart him over his shoulder with such ease. And Hanze did not stop nor mind his weak protests and wriggling as he made his way towards the Pillars.

His manservant sputtered upon opening the door to find the Warrior of Light carting his Lord in like a sack of popotoes. “Lord Aymeric de Borel is hereby confined to his quarters until such a time that Lord Hanze Adera, Warrior of Light, has deemed that he has properly rested and regained full strength,” stated Hanze, to which the servant cast a desperate look towards Aymeric, unsure of how to respond and silently begging for the Lord Commander’s input.

Aymeric was too flustered and exhausted to say anything, his words coming out in sputtered fragments as he was carted upstairs, towards his bedchamber. The idea of Hanze even existing within it made his entire body grow warm. “Hanze I can walk, I assure you. This is highly unorthodox - By the Fury what has gotten _into_ you?” he demanded, trying to prop himself up against the other’s shoulder to peer around at the other instead of giving into the temptation of watching his tail sway to and fro.

Hanze paused at the crest of the stairs, “Which one?” he asked in regards to the row of closed doors lining one end of the hall.

Aymeric heaved a sigh, “Second one down,” he conceded, allowing the Warrior to cart him into the room and set him down on his feet, gently.

The Ishgardian had to keep from wobbling once he was set back on his feet and crashed into the other man in his haze, hands splayed across the auri’s broad chest. His mind was stalling and he couldn’t think. He wanted to collapse as his mind reeled and his world spun. As usual, he was wrong again in his assumptions and he doubted he would have made it back to the Congregation.

“I did not risk my life - my soul - to come back and let you work yourself to death,” came the soft, whispered words. Aymeric stared at the fasteners on Hanze’s leather vest as his vision blurred in and out. He barely registered being guided to his bed and sat down on the edge. 

Aymeric cradled his head, his world spinning as the Warrior pulled away to call for a servant. The footsteps were quick and the words exchanged were hushed and whispered.

“No… nothing too rich. He needs fresh water and something light - a vegetable broth once he is rested. We cannot shock his system…. No, I will stay and watch him…. Yes, thank you,” He heard the voice, then hurried footsteps leaving. 

“Aymeric? Are you still with me? You need to get out of your coat,” urged the voice. His eyelids were heavy, his head lulling forward as a warm hand found his cheek. He hummed and nuzzled into the warmth instinctively. The hand was calloused and smelled of worked leather mixed with the earthy scent of flora and dirt, but was warm and comforting. His cheek fit against the palm so perfectly. 

He closed his eyes, savoring the warmth of the touch.

He remembered naught after that.  
-  
The first thing that returned to him to his senses was a dull headache. Aymeric moved to sluggishly turn onto his side, groaning and burying his face into the pillow that supported his head. He was out of his outer layers and instead in simple and loose fitting linen trousers and shirt. 

His entire body protested as he tried to get up. Everything felt heavy as he had lost command of his limbs. His bleary vision found its way to a figure kneeling in front of the fireplace, stoking the flames and tossing another log on. 

The comforting snap and crackle of the wood lulled Aymeric as he nestled into his bed, pulling the blankets tighter around himself. Once again, his eyelids dared to slip shut and he heard light footsteps moving towards him. He did not move as a hand gently brushed his hair from his face, the knuckles of said hand testing his forehead and cheek for fever before retreating.

Now that he realized it - he did feel the fever.

Moments later a cool compress was gently pressed against his forehead, then to his cheeks. He relaxed further into the soothing feeling. And at last he dared to reopen his eyes, finding a sight he had only dared to see in his dreams. 

“How embarrassing… the Warrior of Light waylaying his duties to-”

“Hush,” came the stern command, as Hanze dipped the towel in a bowl of water and wrung it out. He had clearly washed and redressed whilst Aymeric was asleep. However it was something modest and simple… Aymeric almost missed that showy top from several days prior. 

He could use the eye candy.

“I wish to apologize. Had I known how ill I had fallen-”

“I will not tell you a second time,” the Warrior paused in his ministrations as he looked over, his expression serious, his tone even more so.

Aymeric felt his face heat up as he snapped his mouth shut. His days had been filled with giving orders and leading from the front. It… felt nice to be told what to do for once. 

Hanze was quiet as he usually was, a grave and serious expression lining his face and Aymeric quietly admired how the flickering light of the fireplace danced across the angles of his features. He had never seen the other in a darkened environment, but the glow of his eyes sent an unexpected shiver down the Ishgardian’s spine. How eerie yet beautiful, he thought.

“You will not be leaving your home until such a time that you are returned to proper health. You need to heavily consider delegating your duties to others. Or find yourself a secretary. This has gone on long enough, Aymeric. I will not stand for it,” came the firm but gentle admonishing. 

He was right. He always was. Aymeric felt no more than a fumbling child against the other some days. 

“Thank you…” he dared in a soft voice, which earned him a gentle smile. A smile so warm and inviting Aymeric would die for it.

"Are you feeling well enough to eat?" The auri stood up from the bedside chair and moved towards the table in the bedchamber. It was then Aymeric noticed the pot of tea situated atop a tea candle stand, keeping the contents hot.

"I believe so," he muttered, moving in an attempt to sit up himself. Either his mind and senses were more dulled and sluggish than he had previously realized, or the Warrior was far quicker than he had ever given him credit for.

Strong yet gentle hands helped to situate Aymeric against quickly propped pillows. He was by no means 'up', but more vertical than before.

The Warrior adjusted the bed sheets, tucking Aymeric in before moving back towards the tea and waiting pot of broth. 

His movements were quick and practiced as he added a spoon of honey and a slice of lemon into the tea before coming to hand it to Aymeric.

The elezen took it gratefully, warming his hands around the cup and venturing a sip. "If I may…" he dared, only to receive a glance and a nod of permission to continue.

"Your bedside manner is… forgive me, I did not take you for a caregiver. Why not see me to a chirurgeon?"

Aymeric did not receive an answer for quite some time as Hanze busied himself with preparing the bowl of light broth. Perhaps he had over stepped, assumed improperly yet again.

"When I was a boy… before becoming an adventurer, my mother was very ill. The medicine was scarce, but mostly expensive. All I could do in her last days was ease her pain."

His heart dropped and Aymeric turned his gaze into his cup, "Forgive me… I did not mean- you have my condolences," he offered, looking up as Hanze returned to the bedside, bowl in hand.

"Well enough to feed yourself?" He waited patiently, draping one leg over the other. Aymeric set his tea on the bedside table and nodded, taking the bowl and spoon gratefully.

"Eat as much as you are able," the auri's darkened eyes watched him keenly, like a hawk. "As for your second question; I do not trust you to not use your authority to cow the chirurgeons into allowing you leave. You hold no authority over me, therefore I am not beholden to listen to you," he offered a wry smile but Aymeric heard the affectionate threat in his tone.

It seemed Aymeric was indeed stuck until his health returned. He busied himself with eating before he grew tired and handed the bowl back to Hanze. 

"Again… thank you. And I apologize," he sighed, sinking back into the pillows, allowing them to carry his weight.

"Do not apologize to me. Apologize to yourself. You work yourself to death for what? You would fight tooth and nail, defying the Holy See and generations of what was parroted as ‘factual history’ to bring about peace to your people, only to die under petty paperwork. It does not befit you, Aymeric. Where would Ishgard be, where would the alliance be…. Where would I be?"

The last question was barely a whisper and more a question to the au ra himself. But Aymeric swore he heard it... or maybe it was his delirious mind, wishing he had heard it. He did hear the sigh and looked up as the other placed himself in the bedside chair, redressing his blankets.

"I am not cross with you, Aymeric. Nor am I surprised, but… no matter how fervent and willing the mind and soul are, the body has very pointed and stringent limits," the Warrior stated, his tone gentle as he moved to delicately brush the hair from Aymeric's eyes and forehead. Aymeric wanted nothing more than to lean into the touch, but it was fleeting and feathlight and all he could do was sigh wistfully.

"You do me too much kindness… I...thank you… I will forever be in your debt," Aymeric searched the others face, basking in the quiet closeness they shared. Every moment together was precious to him.

"Good to hear. Because I do not take death as a payment. And you wouldn't want to be in my poor graces as a debtor, now would you?" He mused, bringing about a nice bit of levity. Aymeric could only chuckle.

"Come, it is time to sleep," the other moved to assist the Ishgardian to sit up. Hanze sat on the edge of the bed, letting Aymeric lean against him as he fussed with and repositioned the pillows behind him.

Again, the heat rose to his face as he pressed his cheek against the other's shoulder. A lock of soft, pale hair brushed Aymeric’s nose and he could not resist inhaling the sweet scent of sandalwood and vanilla. The curtains were drawn shut and the house was asleep. The Lord Commander would indulge himself in this, as he wrapped his arms languidly around the others' middle, humming as he nuzzled the strong shoulder he was set against.

Hanze stilled at his movements, but did not push him away. "You did not fall asleep on me, did you?" He asked, his tone light and teasing. Aymeric could only hum, content to let the soft scent of the Warrior fill his nose.

The elezen barely registered being set back against the pillows, his mind peacefully blank as the warmth of the other slowly left him. 

Sleep came easily to the Lord Commander as he has never felt more safe in all his days before.


	9. You + Amaurot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 9 for #seaswolchallenge on tumblr.  
> -  
> Current Timeline: Post 5.3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm cheating a bit here by combining two prompts/days into one, but I liked the idea. This also gives me a bit of a buffer to work on lingering prompts I'm having some trouble finding ideas for.

_“Ah, there you are, my friend!” A voice calls, and you spin around to find a masked face and a smile drawing closer. Their dark robes betray what they are; your enemy. But something in you also sees an old, long lost friend, ripped from time; Hythlodaeus._

_You feel different, but no one bustling by pays you a glance - you belong here. Hythlodaeus closes in and stops in front of you. Their mouth is moving, but you can’t hear the words._

_Your vision shifts and you toss and turn in a bed not your own, yet familiar. You roll and gently collide with another body sharing your bed. Stark white hair and burning golden eyes peer at you from the darkness, “Trouble sleeping again?” he asks._

_You simultaneously know and hate this person whilst also feeling a keen love for him that you had somehow forgotten._

_Again, your world shifts, fragments and unheard voices. Long forgotten friends speak to you, but they are barely visible, your eyes unable to focus and adjust. A keen sorrow finding purchase in your chest._

_The final scene shifts, and you are you. Your body, the dream is clear and nearly lucid. You’re back down in the Tempest, walking the empty roads, picking up strange tokens, knowing they are leading you somewhere, and yet your feet move you, your body bends to pick them up, one by one. The more you pick up, the hazier and hazier your reality becomes._

_You look up and see the familiar yet unfamiliar shade and something, somewhere deep inside of you feels intense pain and longing. Eorzea is your home from the moment you were born unto the world. And yet… the final gem placed in your palm weighs heavy and it hurts and some part of you misses home. You miss the way it all used to be._

And then you wake. 

You are back in your familiar room, with its familiar scents and sounds. Untangling yourself from your bed linens, you stumble, bleary eyed, to the wash basin and turn up the gas on a light nearby. 

The flame’s light dances off your exhausted and sallow complexion as you peer at the mirror. Whoever stares back looks like you. They don’t grin, or move outside of your movements. Your vision is blurred, but you can see that it is indeed you as you and your reflection reach out and meet each other's fingertips in the middle.

You know your name, your birthplace, your friends, your purpose. But there is something…. _something_ deep down in the pit of your gut that feels wrong… hollow. But… what if this is not you? What if your name is not your name?

You shudder and splash cold water on your face, letting the droplets fall and slide down your neck. You stare back with burning eyes at your reflection. You ask yourself what was a dream and what was reality. What was the truth and what was the lie.

All you know for sure is that staring at your reflection will reveal naught.


	10. Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 11 for #seaswolchallenge on tumblr.  
> -  
> Current Timeline: Shadowbringers

Another Lightwarden slain, and his chest feels tight as he enters his apartment at the pendants. Hanze sighs, unstrapping the buckles and fasteners of his armor, an old bruise to the ribs causing him to hiss as he struggles.

The open window offers a cooling breeze and he sighs at finally getting the buckle loose and freeing himself of his breastplate.

He heads over to the armoire and undoes the tie from his long hair, rubbing the back of his scalp at the relief it brings. It is only in brushing his hair through does he see the reflection of burning golden eyes in the mirror, watching him from the table.

Wheeling on his heel, brandishing his ever-so-deadly brush at the Ascian, he scowls. “An open window is _not_ and invitation for the likes of _you_ ,” the au ra hisses, icy blue eyes sparing a glance to the door and calculating his chances of escape should Emet-Selch pounce.

However, his veiled threat only earns him a roll of the eyes and a sigh, “Alright, fine.” Emet-Selch hauls himself up from the chair and heads to the door, opening it and leaving.

A few heartbeats and a knock on the door. Hanze rolls his eyes and lifts a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, “Enter…”

Emet-Selch saunters in, “Oh, illustrious Warrior of Darkness, a moment of your time-”

“Shut up and sit down, Emet-Selch. I am tired and my patience is exceptionally thin as it is,” Hanze quips, before daring to turn his back on the other. 

He watches from the reflection of the mirror as the Ascian resumes his perch on the chair he previously occupied. But the other makes no move to speak yet, simply watching with that unwavered stare.

Hanze tries his best to get out of his armor and dress down somewhat in peace, ignoring the staring. Finally he gets fed up and slings the hair brush at Emet-Selch, who merely cants his head slightly to the side and avoids the object as it clatters loudly against the wall.

“What do you want?” Hanze demands in a loud growl, his patience all dried up. 

Emet-Selch does not speak, not yet, as he gets up and closes in on the Au ra, who finds his back bumping the armoire. The Ascian locks eyes with the taller, seemingly searching for something. Then he reaches up and Hanze flinches, thinking the other means to go for his throat, but finds a gloved hand along his cheek. It is surprisingly warm and gentle despite it belonging to his enemy.

“What are you-”

_A city of dark spires rise into infinity, fading into the cloud layer. The day is bright, beautiful and warm. His back against lush, impossibly green grass, his head resting in someone’s warm lap. His eyes move from the lazy clouds to the owner of the lap, their hand resting on his cheek, warm and comforting._

_White hair frames golden eyes that smile down at him. The owner’s smile is genuine and happy._

_“Aze-”_

The memory fades as quickly as it appears and Hanze shoves Emet-Selch away from him. “What did you _do_?” he demands, reaching for his sword.

This time there is no sneer, no witty remark, only a look of intense sadness and exhaustion. “I have tried… time and time again… and yet it does not hold, does not take,” Emet-Selch says, his voice hollow, his exhaustion dripping from his words.

“What are you talking about? You know full well we mean to keep you from commencing a Rejoining,” Hanze bites. “Besides, if you want to debate, do it with Alphinaud - I am not one for politicking,” He adds with a click of the tongue.

Emet-Selch shakes his head, closing his eyes, “You never were… It took all I had to get you to sit at one meeting,” he mumbles in a soft amusement, as if remembering something that happened countless lifetimes past.

“What?” 

“It does not matter now. Continue with your little quest and I shall continue to gauge your progress,” replies the Ascian before turning on his heel and leaving the room, leaving the Warrior in alone in his bewildered confusion.


	11. Crescendo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 12 for #seaswolchallenge on tumblr.  
> -  
> Current Timeline: Heavensward > King Thordan Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna wait on this one and post some other prompts leading up to it, but I haven't had time to edit them.

They stand before him, the knights of the Heavensward. The Archbishop changed.

Invoking the art of self Tempering. Becoming one's own Primal.

He stands alone, two handed greatsword heavy against his palms. Cloaked in the fiction, his sorrow and grief made manifest.

There's nothing for it now.

He is the judge, the jury, and the executioner.

His verdict: death. 

He is broken, he is hollowed. Only anger and regret fill him as rage, unlike any of his ken has known, wraps him tightly and darkly.

Blades collide. Thirteen against one. Easy odds. 

With every cut, every burn, every bruise, his anger grows. He cannot discern himself from the primals he has been born and bred to slay.

One by one they fall. 

Then he sees the perpetrator. Match the mark and twist the blade. Watch the life leave his eyes with sick satisfaction.

Slide the corpse from his blade with a spiked boot.

Avenged. 

There is naught else to be done but slay the head of the snake.

He is powerful, but so is Thordan.

The pain only provides fuel to the fire of his anger. The hot blood pulsing in his veins and seeping into the corners of his armor keeps him fighting.

He tastes the blood on his tongue and it tastes so sweet as he loses himself. Loses himself to the darkness and lets it fill his lungs and drown him.

It ends in a glorious crescendo with the sing of blades and a wet thud; all echoed by the deafening roar of unceremonious silence. The same note holding in the air after a magnificent concerto. 

Gore and viscera drips from him and he drinks deep of the agony permeating the battlefield like a sickly sweet miasma of sorrow and torment.

The deed is done and he feels no better for it. His hunger for revenge is sated. It is the only thing that bears him apart from Nidhogg - who finally knows the infinite peace of death by the Warrior’s own hand.

But as this sheet of music has hit its final verse, he knows there is yet more to sing, more music that must be played. 

The show will forever go on.


	12. Instinct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 13 for #seaswolchallenge on tumblr.  
> -  
> Current Timeline: 5.3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting more things out of order because I enjoy chaos.

“You chose to expand your skill set into the art of the Red mage and you did not think to tell me?” Came the indignant call of Alisaie as hurried boots rounded the corner from the entrance of the Rising Stones.

Hanze paused, the sudden realization that he had neglected to tell well… anyone, aside from Aymeric, sunk into his gut. “Ah…” he turned just in time to see the younger Leveilleur twin stop in front of him, hands on her hips expectantly.

“And you promised me a spar,” she tacked on, a grin spreading across her lips. Ah yes… he had promised to G’raha that he would spar with Alisaie. 

“I did indeed promise you a spar…” he conceded, glancing towards Alphinaud and G’raha as they approached the conversation.

“Ohh, I would surely enjoy tagging along and watching you summarily put my sister in her place,” teased Alphinaud who only received a glare from said sister. G’raha smiled, pleasant as ever, “And I would like to see if there is aught to learn from the differences of technique between Alisaie and Hanze,” he nodded.

So it was to be a field trip into Mor Dhona then… “Alright. A duel between red mages, I take it?” he glanced back towards Alisaie who nodded triumphantly.   
-  
Hanze had sparred with Alisaie in the past, but they had both been novices; fledgling fighters. Now they had gone to hell and back, honing their crafts, growing stronger and more deadly.

Still, Hanze would hold back, as he always did, despite the protests from his opponents of not wanting him to do so. He could outright kill them if he wasn’t careful, and he allowed them to train against him rather than the other way round.

“Promise me you will not hold back, Hanze,” demanded Alisaie, and he just smiled some, “You know I do not make those promises,” he countered, allowing her to make the first move.

The two were practiced, moving about the small designated battlefield. There was a moment as the two circled each other, foci floating in hand, rapiers pointed at one another.

“I see you took no time in dressing the part. Is so much skin necessary to be a competent red mage?” Jeered Alisaie, a wild grin on her lips.

“Katliss insisted. You know how Disciples of the Hand get when they have their mind set to dressing someone,” Hanze replied, his expression neutral.

“Must have been very cold in Ishgard for it. Did you remember to bring your coat?” she continued.

“You know as well as anyone that I do not wear my combat gear to the Diadem.”

“I was not talking about the Diadem,” she lowered her voice, grin widening mischievously.

He played willfully ignorant, but he was worried about her path of logic. “It is no secret I am assisting with the Restoration, Alisaie. Why in all of Eorzea are you bringing this up?”

“Oh come now, Hanze… everyone knows where you’ve gone after such a hard day’s work. Sharing a warm hearth and cup of tea in the arms of the esteemed Lord Aymeric de Borel. Not to mention carrying him home and oh so lovingly tending to him as he lay ill with fever,” she dramatically swooned and made mock kissing noises at him as they continued to pace and circle.

Hanze stopped, squinting, “You assume incorrectly, then. How typically impulsive and lacking-in-tact of you, Alisaie,” his voice was low. She had struck a nerve he didn’t even know he possessed.

Before Alisaie could continue, he let loose a spell, forcing an inelegant squawk from the young elezen who leapt back just as the phantom swords pierced the very spot she had been standing.

“Oh ho ho! Have I struck a nerve, O’ vaunted Warrior of Light? Are his bed linens as silky and luxurious as they say?” she continued her mock kissing noises and Hanze had to actively remind himself to not fall into her trap.

“Alisaie, that’s quite enough!” chided Alphinaud from the sidelines.

“Shut it, Alphinaud!” both mages called in unison.

G’raha leaned over to Alphinaud, keeping his voice low as the two red mages duked it out in a flash and flurry of spells and bladework. “What is Alisaie referring to?”

Alphinaud sighed gently, “No… I suppose you haven’t been around long enough. I am afraid this is my fault. During our exile into Ishgard, and during the Dragonsong War, I heavily suspected that Lord Commander Aymeric de Borel had something of a growing affection for our Warrior of Light. I did not see it, and I had not seen it for quite some time. That is, until Ghimlyt Dark, when Hanze was gravely wounded.”

“Wounded?” G’raha’s ears perked up in alarm as he glanced over towards the clashing pair of mages. “By Prince Zenos, I take it?”

Alphinaud merely nodded, not venturing to elaborate further, “By that time you had already… invited us along,” he cleared his throat, sparing a look of solace over to G’raha, whose ears pulled low in shame.

“But the reports I’ve read after the fact alluded to an... interesting observation from the Head Chirurgeon of how the Lord Commander was near frantic with worry, not leaving Hanze’s side for nigh on four days. Even now, some of the signs are telling, but it is clear that our Ishgardian ally holds a deep affection for our Warrior friend,” Alphinaud folded his arms and shrugged a shoulder.

“And … Alisaie came by this news… how?” G’raha looked once more from Alphinaud, towards the still-furiously-clashing pair, then back to Alphinaud.

“I asked her if she had suspicions, or noticed anything amiss, as someone who was not present at the time of the Dragonsong War and our exile. I suppose her womanly intuition served her in this respect,” Alphinaud ventured another shrug. “Despite her… unsubtle nature, shall we say.”

“Oh…” was all the miqo’te responded, turning his attention back to the sparring.

“Really, Hanze, you’ve already tried to kill me once, I am sure you have it in you to-”

“What?” Hanze stopped, eyes wide as he stared at Alisaie in alarm.

“I…” She paused as well, realizing her grave mistake.

“Well I just meant the uh… last time we sparred! We gave it our all,” she fumbled, sparing a desperate glance towards her brother.

Alphinaud held out his hands, “Yes, do you not remember the friendly spar when we were still newly Scions?” he smiled.

Hanze frowned, glancing between them, “You know how I dislike being lied to. This fight is over. You win,” he sheathed his rapier and focus, turning to leave.

“No wait, Hanze, please-” Alisaie made to run after the au ra but was stopped at the withering glare she received. All she could do was hang her head in shame. 

The trio allowed the Warrior to stomp off, not wanting to risk his ire.

“This isn’t how I wanted to win…” came the strangled words as G’raha and Alphinaud moved to join Alisaie. 

The twin brother sighed, and hadn’t the words himself, for once.


	13. Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 14 of #seaswolchallenge on tumblr.  
> -  
> Current Timeline: 5.3 (following #12 Instinct)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for:
> 
> \- Depictions of Violence  
> \- Depictions of PTSD/Mental Trauma  
> \- Depictions of Self deprecation  
> \- Depictions of Edginess
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

The spar with Alisaie left him retreating deep into his thoughts. He needed to leave and be alone. Run, like he always did. Sure, he would gladly fight Primals and battle with self imposed gods. But his true fear, the thing that sent him cowering and hiding, were his own feelings.

The battlefield is where he could lose himself, find peace in violence, solace in the chaos. But after the trials in the First, his time with other Scions, his time in Ishgard… he felt muddled. 

Alisaie goading him into a spar was the only thing he could understand, the only thing that made sense. Clarity through the static and the noise of his thoughts. He was all at once no one and too many someones and he did not know who occupied his thoughts at any given moment. Himself? Esteem? Fray? Myste? Ardbert? 

Were any of those people real? Was he shoving his guilt and shame onto others? People that didn't even truly exist?

Hanze found the highest point in Mor Dhona and sat, staring out at the twisted, broken landscape that might never fully heal. He simply did not think of anything. He ignored the feelings, ignored the questions and thoughts. He needed to fight, he needed to bloodlet. It was the only thing that could keep him sane. Shaky hands nervously rubbed his thighs in an attempt to still them. He needed to move, to fight something, anything.

He knew what he was becoming. He knew who he was proving right. He knew. He had always known. But he denied and denied and denied, never wanting that bastard to be right. 

But Hanze could not hide himself from someone who knew what it felt like… to feel alive on the field of battle. To only know clarity and self worth in the heat of a fight; in the midst of violence.

Hanze stood up hurriedly. He had to move, he had to go fight. But all the fights had been fought. The beastmen dwindled in their summons as peace talks began. The Ascians were no more and he hadn’t a clue where to find any lingering remnants. Garlemald was out of the question lest he destroy whatever Urianger and Thancred were planning there.

His hands began to shake again as he remembered Alisaie’s remarks on his closeness to a certain Ishgardian.

She was right. She wasn’t stupid, she never was. But the truth being shoved in his face by someone who meant little harm, caused him a greater distress than he could have imagined.

It would never work. It could never work. Leave it to its fate, he couldn’t go back to Coerthas; to Ishgard. 

The Warrior paced, kicking rocks and dirt, stopping to punch a remnant crystal. All he knew how to do was enact violence. What then when all the fights were won and there was naught more to be fought? Hang up his sword? Retire? 

He had raged against the cage of destiny, wanting to run from it all, live out as a hermit and forsake everything. 

But what then of his need for battle? The bloodlust he had acquired throughout the years? He was stuck, he was restless. He did not _want_ to be a friend and ally. He was better off losing himself and being the Weapon of Light. 

But why? Why did people have to care about him? It made everything complicated and muddled. It made the static louder and he could not navigate his own mind to hear his own voice over the screaming thoughts. Deny, deny, deny. He did not care. He was a weapon. It was easier. 

“It will never be easy,” chided a voice beside him, the familiar figure leaning against a crystal, his arms folded.

“Go away… I… I don’t need you to complicate who I am further,” his voice was hoarse.

A sigh, the soft chime of spurs as the figure strode closer and moved to stand next to him, “Will you go drown the static with booze again?”

“Unless you find me something to fight... “ 

“Why do you do this to yourself? Why not give in?”

“Like I give in to you every time I fight?”

“I am a different sense of loss altogether. Let them in-”

“There are already too _many_ in me as it is. I just want to be _alone_!” Hanze interrupted the shade, only to receive a pitying look.

“I… I just can’t… I’m sorry. Every… every time I allowed myself to get close, to let someone in...They get hurt or die. Let them believe I am an unfeeling monster, they will at least live long enough to think me so. And I’d rather them be alive to hate me,” he muttered, setting himself on the ground again in defeat. 

The other sat too, sighing softly. “You’re a right idiot. The esteemed Warrior of light… fearless and unkillable… afraid of his feelings.”

There was no response, only despondent silence. There was no point arguing with himself. 

“Even so… I would never be good enough. I am too awkward, too brash.”

“You just described G’raha and Alisaie, if anything.”

“It works for them. They have a charm to them. I have… I know how to end something’s life in a brutal and swift fashion. Why do you think I rarely spoke several years back? I was barely a man, I was no more than a stupid farm boy following in the footsteps of my father; a man I barely remember and hardly knew.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Some days… when I cannot fight, I do.”

“Did you learn absolutely nothing then? You still blatantly ignore the lives you change for the better, the countless souls you save?”

“I do not ignore them… but what about me? What about my life? And now I find out I almost...killed Alisaie, probably the others," Hanze lamented, glaring at his shaded counterpart.

He stood up, beginning to pace once more. What _really_ kept him from just leaving, he wondered.

"Do you really want that answer?"

"Shut up."

"Face it and stop running. You love him and you care for the rest of them. Stop acting as if you're better than them!"

"Don't you get it; I can't trust myself!" 

Silence.

"I can't… it scares me. If I feel _anything_ , fate will take them from me or I become the beast I've been likened to, so many times before. Maybe both!"

"You really haven't learned a gods damned thing."

"I guess not. The more I learn, the less I feel whole… real." Came the tired response, exhaustion dripping off every word.

"You know how I struggle to cope with my feelings and thoughts. Battle is the only thing that keeps me sane."

"And despite this, when you're with him, you feel true happiness. When you spend time with the Scions, a small part of you realizes you have found your family. You would deny yourself this happiness? You would deny them as well?"

Hanze scoffed, "He doesn't love me as I love him. He is the Lord Speaker now. The esteemed Aymeric de Borel. He has a status and obligation to his family name and lineage. Something that I could never provide. Even if I wanted to. And the Scions… they can believe what they want to...”

"You don't want to then. Everyone else's feelings mean nothing? That's it? You're just going to turn on your cowardice to always run. Run and deny anyone, most of all you, any shred of happiness."

"They are better off utilizing me on the field of battle. I am good for naught more."

"You're an idiot and a coward."

"I am."

"I cannot believe you. I cannot believe this! Why are you resigning yourself to this suffering? I don't understand the logic. This is our antithesis! Did Fray's teachings mean nothing to you?"

Hanze turned to Esteem, a sad smile on his face.

"Would you like full control? I'm done… I am tired and wish to sleep. Pursue him if you wish. Make friends if you wish… I give up."

He liked the idea of control… but not like this… never like this. It was fun goading him along, pushing him to better himself. He had never meant for the other side of him to… crumble.

He stepped back, shaking his head. "This is not how it works and you are deluding yourself. We are one in the same. There is no 'giving control' to either side. There is no side to relinquish yourself to. You simply Are."

“No… You are. I am nothing. I am done.”

“You realize that believing you have nothing to fight for makes you weaker. We’ve been at our strongest when we fight together, for those we care for. Nidhogg to save Estinien, Zenos to protect Hien and Yugiri, Eden to save Gaia… Shall I go on? I even lept in to subdue you when the Light began to consume you! You saved them from yourself when they needed you most! Don’t you see?" He was met with silence and he growled, fist clenching. 

“Answer me!” He demanded in a shout, reeling his arm back and colliding his fist with the other’s jaw, sending a spray of blood from his mouth as his mirror sprawled to the ground.

It took Hanze a few heart beats to prop himself up and press fingers to his lips and see that he was bleeding. He was pushed down again by a boot on his throat, heel digging in painfully.

The shade was met with immediate resistance, being easily thrown back. Well at least inciting a fight got his reflection to feel… _something_. Maybe Zenos was right… they were too similar. But Hanze had less autonomy in his fate. Tempered and chosen, fighting whatever he was pointed at like the obedient dog he was. 

Esteem was disgusted. The self loathing and doubt was deeply rooted and he would gladly rip it out. And if he had to fight Hanze… again, then so be it. Their endless struggle to find themselves in the darkness seemed a fight that fed into itself; ouroboros. One step forward, two steps back, again and again they fought. 

But this was not a friendly spar Hanze held with the Scions. This was bare handed and bloodied. Esteem would gladly beat the sense into Hanze. They were one in the same and he loved Aymeric deeply; wanting to draw the Ishgardian close and kiss him breathless. He loved the Scions wholly; seeing them as his family, his brothers and sisters whom he would lay down his life for; to kill anything and anyone for them without a thought.

But this… this pitiful coward that dared to usurp their happiness. The doubt and self loathing that attached onto their soul. It must needs be purged.

Esteem pinned Hanze to the floor, hands gripping his throat, slamming him back against the ground. "You idiot! Why must we fight. Every. Single. Time?" He punctuated his sentences with more slams.

Hanze fell limp, unconscious and Esteem let go, panting in his anger and adrenaline. This was not the first time they danced this dance and sung this song. And he doubted it would ever be the last. He was sure Hanze had died sometime during the end of the Dragonsong war, when the dark knight crystal gave life to this side of him.

Whoever remained now was nothing more than a man too terrified of loving and feeling loved that he had convinced himself that his enemies were right. They were not, of course. They were nothing more than vile whispers in the dark. A darkness that easily drowned and consumed lesser men. 

Esteem sat back, getting off the unconscious heap and wiped the blood from his nose, heaving a sigh. "You will learn to accept love and love in return or so help me gods…." He growled, staring towards the horizon and watching the sunset.


	14. Hold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 15 of #seaswolchallenge on tumblr.  
> -  
> Current Timeline: 5.4 (Following #8 Falling)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More pining and longing? With Aymeric??? Nah you're crazy. I don't even go here.

It had been two days since being confined to his bed, and Aymeric’s fever had yet to break. Hanze was dutiful, staying by him at every waking moment at the very least. He fetched anything Aymeric asked of him, opened the window when he was burning up or stoked the fire when he felt nothing but chills. 

He was miserable in his illness, but at least he was in the comfort of his own home, being tended to ever so carefully by the Warrior. The hours blurred together and he could not remember what day it was; if it was early morning or late evening.

After taking a bitter draught of medicine Hanze had procured, Aymeric finally managed some rest, though his dreams were anything but restful. Nightmares haunted him still, twisting and deforming in his fever. 

He must have screamed as he was shaken awake, Hanze over him with eyes full of worry. It took Aymeric far too many delirious moments as he looked around wildly, his fevered mind reeling and thrashing against the cage of his skull.

Everything only stilled when strong, warm hands were placed on either side of his face. Wild eyes settled on dark eyes. Aymeric took in the face above him; sharp high cheekbones and straight nose set over lips that were drawn into a thin line, a jagged scar from jaw to the bridge of said nose tearing across the otherwise perfectly smooth skin. All framed by long, silky locks of pale blond hair. 

Once the Warrior saw that Aymeric slowly recognized him, he exhaled the sigh he had been keeping in his lungs. He was relieved as his thumb rubbed along Aymeric’s fevered cheek and the Ishgardian melted into the feeling, smiling contentedly. 

“It was only a nightmare…” Hanze muttered, moving to pull away as Aymeric weakly reached out for him, silently cursing his sluggish response time. 

“Wait, please... “ he begged softly, the terror still clinging to him, still feeling far too real. The long faded scar of his knife wound burned with remembrance as nightmarish memories haunted his peripheries, and he needed the other at his side.

Hanze paused to look back at him, waiting as asked. Aymeric felt his mouth and throat go dry, his tongue felt heavy. He shivered from another chill setting in and he wanted nothing more than for the warrior to hold him close.

"I… Might I be so bold as to ask you to stoke the fire?" Aymeric muttered, ashamed for even daring to want the other so indecently close to him. Hanze merely nodded and moved to poke the fire and set another log on top of the flame, the old, burned through wood giving a snap at the new weight.

Aymeric sighed and settled against his pillows for a few moments. He had enough strength to sit himself up at the very least. He grimaced at how heavy his head felt and just cradled it in his hands.

"May I ask why you are sitting up?"

"I am restless… in the morning could you fetch someone to retrieve my daily reports?"

"No." Came the terse reply as Hanze set about heating some water for tea. Well it was worth a shot. 

“How about conversation then? You have not indulged me in it for some time,” the elezen ventured, leaning back against his pillows with a tired sigh.

“Well, you have not been the most coherent or conscious conversation partner, now have you?” the au ra retorted casually as he moved back over to the bedside chair.

“Touche. But I am awake now. Have you informed anyone of my illness?”

“I’ve informed Lucia and am allowing her to handle it. I understand the eagerness with which Ishgard had to free itself of the yoke of one defining ruler, but old habits do die hard. And everyone’s reliance on needing your final say has placed too much burden on you. Ishgard survived centuries of isolation in an eternal war. It will survive without its beloved Commander for a week.”

“Beg Pardon - a week? Have the days passed so quickly?”

Hanze shrugged, “No, it has only been roughly two to three days.”

Aymeric lofted an eyebrow, “Three days is not a week.”

“You are not going back any time soon. Consider this forced vacation and recovery.”

Aymeric lifted his hands to rub his face and heave a sigh, “Hanze… this is really very unnecessary.”

“Is it?” he dared, on leg draped over the other, arms crossed, an eyebrow raised in unamusement.

“I am sure I can return to my duties sooner than you project.”

“You gods damned Ishgardians and your refusal for bed rest. Is it genetic?” quipped the auri with a click of his tongue.

Aymeric couldn’t help a bark of laughter, knowing Hanze alluded to their wayward friend, Estinien. “By the Fury, I would hope not,” he grinned.

“Then you will stay here until your fever breaks, and even further beyond that, until I am satisfied with your returned health.”

The Ishgardian felt the groan at the back of his throat but did not wish to seem ungrateful. The Warrior of Light was very good at his job in saving people… even from themselves, it seemed.

“If it is any consolation, I feel yalms better than before,” Aymeric muttered, turning his gaze towards the other.

“Sleep will do that,” grinned the auri. It soon fell, “I could fetch you a book to read, if you prefer. Something to keep you occupied for the time being,” Hanze offered, and Aymeric nodded, leaping at the opportunity for any sort of light entertainment. Not that he did not enjoy conversing with Hanze, but he knew the Warrior had more important duties to be attending.

“Then I shall return with a book or two and some tea. Shall I have some food brought up as well?” he asked, standing and making his way for the bedchamber door.

“If you would be so kind, thank you,” Aymeric smiled, suddenly aware of his dire need for a wash.  
-  
It was another fevered night of restless dreams before Aymeric broke his fever. His hair and clothes were soaked with sweat and sticking against his skin when he awoke with uncomfortable grogginess.

He had expected the au ra to be there, and was surprised to find himself alone. Perhaps he could find his way to the washroom and take a most needed bath.

As he moved to sit on the edge of the bed, he pulled his shirt free of his person with a relieved sigh, tossing the dirtied article to the floor without a forethought. Sitting on the edge of his bed and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Aymeric barely heard the door open before he heard it close.

He finally stopped rubbing his eyes to see the familiar sight of Hanze with a tray in his hands. The Warrior seemed to shake himself out of some sort of stupor before moving to the table. 

“If you like, I could have a servant draw up a bath for you?” 

“That would be much appreciated,” Aymeric smiled tiredly.

“Thank you again, my friend,” he added softly, shivering slightly from his bare torso. 

“Of course. But we better not have a repeat of this in future,” came the gentle threat.

“I will do my best to keep you from taking time out of your busy schedule to tend to me,” Aymeric chuckled.

"Aymeric…" came the tired sigh, but instead of a passing glare, he received that gentle smile as the other came over with a cup of tea for him. "You really must stop apologizing to me. It is no trouble, I assure you. Well… having to trick you to keep from working was mildly troubling, but I would do it ten times over if I had to," he mused, moving to send for a servant to draw Aymeric a bath.

Aymeric sat and sipped his tea, enjoying the soothing calm it provided. He didn't seem to notice the subtle rake of the eyes the au ra gave him. How that darkened gaze lingered and followed the curve of the elezen’s arms and sides, trailing down his front, tracing the angle of his hips as they disappeared under the hem of his trousers. He didn't notice the blond bite his lower lip in lavish want, then quickly cover it by chewing his inner cheek and finding a sudden and intense interest on the fireplace.

"Does your scar still pain you?" Hanze asked, now staring at the pale mark marring Aymeric's abdomen. 

"Some days… but not as much as you would think. What of your's? You had that far before ever setting foot in Ishgard," Aymeric motioned to Hanze's facial scar. The other looked away again, seeming ashamed of it. "Gaius got his swipe in…" was all that was offered.

"I see… Well I think it makes you look quite-" Aymeric wanted to say handsome, wanted to say how much the scar added to Hanze's features. It was beautiful and unique. It showed the struggles and hard fought battles the other had gone through for the sake of the realm.

"Ugly?" Added Hanze, scowling at the fireplace.

"No!" Came Aymeric's all-too-quick reply. Clearing his throat he shook his head, "No, it adds to your character, I think." He added more calmly this time.

Hanze hummed, offering a soft look at Aymeric; a look that was slightly pitying and spoke of how much he appreciated Aymeric’s tact, but did not agree. Aymeric could only frown and look down into his cup, wondering how he could coax those rare and elusive smiles from the other more often than not. Perhaps… his affections were truly one sided. He understood that the other might not find interest in men, or elezen, or anyone at all. But it still hurt and left Aymeric with a painful twinge in his chest.

He only looked up and offered a polite smile at the other, watching the au ra move to stoke the fire some more, his back to the elezen.

Aymeric was content to stay friends, despite knowing how he felt about the Warrior. He would do right by his friend and keep himself from overworking. Whatever the Warrior of Light asked of him; he would do it with nary a thought. And even if Aymeric knew he would never get closer to the Warrior, never be able to touch or hold him or tell him how much he loved him; doing right by Hanze’s requests was the next best thing.

Aymeric had suffered terrible loss during the Dragonsong War, and if he survived that, he could survive the longing heartache he felt deep within his chest.


	15. Precipice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 16 of #seaswolchallenge on tumblr.  
> -  
> Current Timeline: Shadowbringers (Amaurot)

Leading the others through the simulation of the end of days, Hanze hefted his lance, his heart aching. Why did it ache? It hurt. Why did these false sights hurt? His home was dying - wait…

“Hanze? We need to keep moving!” Called Alphinaud, worry on his face. His carbuncle rubbed against Hanze’s ankles, looking up at him expectantly.

“Right, right… apologies...” he trailed off, Emet-Selche’s voice echoing from seemingly nothingness as he walked them through the final days.

Hanze never felt fear or concern over voidsent or fiends or all manner of monsters, but something about these grabbed something deep, dark and primal within his heart and he tasted the fear on his tongue like a bitter draught.

Passing the dead ‘bodies’ of the Amurotines had his wail of sorrow caught in his throat. What was happening to him? Why was he having such a visceral reaction to this? Was Emet-Selch somehow tapping into something within him? Preying on his emotions? All for what? To have them falter in their course in stopping him?

As they fought their way through the crumbling city, destroying all manner of nightmarish horror, Hanze had to fight off the screams that wanted to bubble forth. He had to focus on the task at hand; focus on the fighting.

It was an arduous climb, but there they stood, facing Emet-Selch. The final confrontation. End the madness; end this cycle of death. Once and for all.

_Crack!_

He couldn’t contain the scream any longer, the pain cascading through his body. He was forced to his knees, the light hurt. It hurt! Please, gods make it stop! 

_C R A C K_

Another scream of agony, the light pouring out of his mouth like blood. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think. Everything faded to white. This was it… this was his end.

…  
…  
…

The world returned and Hanze felt stronger. He had not noticed the change, but the Ascian did, and he was incensed. Good. 

This was it.

At the edge of the world, where nothing but the abyss remained below their feet. And he knew that the glorious song was reaching its zenith.

He glanced around at the summoned heroes from other worlds. This was not merely for the Source. Not for the First. This was for all remaining shards. They all dressed strangely and called themselves odd names. But their hearts and souls spoke as one; their songs harmonized in this, the final verse.

Gripping his Dark Knight’s crystal, he grinned, watching Hades retreat in wait. 

Cloak himself in the fiction once again and sing the final chorus. Let the music swell at World’s End. 

The final chord will be struck and only one will remain the victor. 

At this, the precipice of fate.


	16. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 17 of #seaswolchallenge on tumblr.  
> -  
> Current Timeline: Heavensward

Despite the eclectic nature of the Fortemps brothers - their clashing personalities always receiving a sigh from their father was something that struck Hanze as familiar. With Artoirel’s sense of duty and responsibility as eldest, Emmanellain’s fiery independence and carefree attitude, and even Haurchefant’s unwavering optimism made a cocktail of a rather interesting family dynamic. Regardless of any scraps or arguments, the House of Fortemps was a family that loved each other very much, despite it all. 

As Hanze found his attention pulled from the window, and he absentmindedly watched Artoirel and Emmanellain speak on the other side of the parlor, he felt something in his chest.

Envy.

Hanze’s family had always been small. It had been mother, father, his elder brother and him as far back as he could remember. A family of Xaela living under the shaded canopies of the Black Shroud in a sleepy farming village, their lineage distant and, frankly, not at all related from those of the Steppe tribes (as far as he knew).

His father was a retired adventurer that always had old wounds causing him pain, and the dangerous past time of his youth had taken its toll on his body and one day… was simply his last. After the death of his brother, his mother forbade Hanze from seeking the adventuring life, which suited him fine. He helped her with the house and worked odd jobs for coin, always being told he would make a great adventurer due to his helpful nature.

It was a drop of bitterness on his tongue as he would simply nod and take his payment before leaving. As days passed and his petite mother found her health waning, Hanze had to take up more and more responsibility, scraping for what gil he could to keep her pain as minimal as he could.

And then, as he knelt by her bed and she rasped her final blessing to him, he didn’t weep as he watched the breath in her chest still. He just felt numb and empty. There was nothing left for him and he hoped seeking out adventure would fill the void with something. Anything.

He hadn’t given his family a passing thought until that very moment. Whereas he was the youngest and more reserved than that of his brother, he suddenly felt the other’s loss keenly and it took every ounce of strength in him to keep from allowing the rage and despair to bubble to the forefront. Barely contained in his indignance and grief, he turned sharply to escape the manor.

Opening the Parlor doors saw him greeted by the one that made his heart hurt less; Haurchefant. They both stumbled back in alarm at bumping into each other and the knight was quick to right himself and then reach for Hanze, “Ah, my dear friend I apologize!” he stated with that bright, infectious smile.

But the dark despair in Hanze’s heart swallowed the hopefully light that Haurchefant exuded. “No, the fault is mine,” Hanze offered, brushing himself off. He had to leave. He needed to walk in the cold air. Walking kept the dark thoughts away. He had been outrunning his anger and sorrow up until now, and he was not about to let it catch up with him now.

“Nonsense! I was merely coming to report to the count, but you are leaving? Important business I assume?” he asked, a mischievous mirth glinting in his eye.

“Something like that,” was all the au ra offered before brushing past the elezen. 

Exiting the Fortemps manor, Hanze let his feet carry him through the streets, the cold air biting at him, but he let it bite and tear; it kept him numb inside and out.

He had scarcely noticed as his boots changed from stone to wood as he paused, his attention caught by two temple knights dragging an armored body into the Brume. They were too far for Hanze to hear past the wind, but they seemed to notice him and scuttle off, leaving the wounded person against the wall at the mercy of the cold and the Brume’s inhabitants.

Hanze barely realized he had stepped up to kneel in front of the person, gently shaking their shoulder in an attempt to rouse them, when something slipped from their hand. It was dark and sharp - holding a similar aether as his dragoon job crystal. 

This crystal seemed different and Hanze picked it up, weighing it in his palm briefly before his anger boiled forth once more, the crystal supping on his despair. 

Whatever this was, it frightened him, but he wanted to give in; to find comfort into the sorrow, salvation in the rancor. To cloak himself in the dissonant whispers of catharsis and revenge’s promise.


	17. Leave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 19 for #seaswolchallenge on tumblr.  
> -  
> Current Timeline: 5.4 (following #13 Control)  
> -  
> CONTENT WARNING:
> 
> \- Alcohol use/abuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the missed day. I haven't been sleeping or feeling well lately and didn't really have time or a chance to write and post. Thanks for your patience! ^^;

He stares with dulled eyes at the intricate grains in the wood of the floorboards.

His body feels heavy with the empty numbness he so desires each day at an increasing rate.

If he cannot fill his lust for a high on a battlefield, then he will drown out the static, the noise, the feeling of his own skin with a bitter medicine.

Bottles of various shapes and sizes surround him as he lays in the middle of his… the place where he occupies a rarely used bed every now and then.

The light of the window filters through the sickly amber color of the bottle in his hand and he spins it, examining the way the light ripples through it.

He cranes his neck oddly to finish off the last desperate gulps then lets the bottle go. It rolls and gently clinks against the other bottles as it does so.

A few splashes of remaining liquid tumble onto the floor as it rolls and he reaches for the medicine weakly. It is too far and he cannot feel his legs enough to move. A sip for the wooden floor that's kept him uncomfortably all this time.

He lies there for some time, languishing contentedly in the peace of nothing. No static, no feelings, no voices, no thoughts, no memories.

But he is still conscious. And that will not keep. 

It takes a great effort but he sits up briefly before his world flips to the other side and he slams his head against the edge of his desk by accident. Thankfully the pain does not exist and he does not notice the trickle of blood beginning to well at his temple.

He finds another bottle. It is shaped elegantly and he tries to read all five of the bottles wobbling in his hand. 

Elman...Emoom…. Euloonmin...en… Eulmoooonst?

Unpopping the cork with his teeth, he spits out the stopper and lets it land out of his life as he knocks it back.

It is sweet. It is wine. He tips some into his palm, splashing the floor and himself with little care.

It is a dark red. Like blood.

He drinks it from his palm. It tastes nothing like blood. It is too sweet. But it is already open and the bottle is in his hand. So he drinks it. 

And drinks it.

And drinks it until his world fades and he remembers naught more.  
-  
He welcomes the throbbing pain, the nausea and bile in his mouth. 

It is the same each time and he sits up and looks around at his pitiful, dingy, sad excuse for an apartment. He hates this hole. But it suits him. It is all he deserves.

He spies the dumped bottle he could not parse before.

'Eulmorean Wine'.

A thought dawns on him to leave. He can simply leave. Leave.

Run like the coward he is.

There was no going further away from his heartache than to flee to another world.

He could drink there and he could fight remnant sineaters. He could take up bounties. He could fight and use the money on more drink. It was a perfect plan. Why hasn't he thought of it before?

Reaching for a bottle of pain medication, he dumps too many capsules into his palm and stuffs them all into his mouth. Were there too many? Who cares.

He packs as hurriedly as he can. The faster he can leave, the faster he can find more drink, the faster he can sate his bloodlust. 

He can hide in Il Mehg between fighting. He knew places not even the fae typically ventured. 'Too boring' they'd complain. Peace and quiet, he'd think.

A foolproof plan if he ever had one.

Run.

Run like the coward and drunkard he is.


	18. Outrage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 20 of #seaswolchallenge on tumblr.  
> -  
> Current Timeline: Post-Stormblood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I rewatched this cut scene to get some dialogue options right. 
> 
> This is obviously not what happened in said scene, but it's the most likely outcome that I headcanon for my WoL.

_Gods no, why? Why was this happening?_

The stranger reverently transferred the comatose Alphinaud to an Ironworks engineer to be carted home as Alisaie, Hien, and Hanze stayed behind to speak with this new face.

Hanze clenched his jaw, watching Alphinaud be hurried off and couldn't resist slamming his fists against one of the supports of the Wall’s nodes. He ignored the admonishing look the nearby Ironworks engineer threw at him and turned back towards the stranger, trying to keep his indignance on a low simmer.

Whomever was taking the Scions - his family - from him like this was in for a world of pain. 

They better pray to the Twelve, Hanze did not get his hands on them before anything else did.

As the stranger explained what befell Alphinaud, Hanze let his gaze wander the other’s form, sizing him up. He spied a peculiar gunblade on his back, and the trophy Ascian masks hanging from his belt. He then spied another mask - an off white color and holding a familiar sculpted brow. A faux scowl that would be forever seared into Hanze’s memory as the memory was physically seared into his flesh, marring its way across his face.

Hanze felt his pupils narrow and his anger spike as he dropped his folded arms and uttered a name he had not uttered in years.

“Gaius van Baelsar.” It was not a question.

The stranger stopped mid sentence and looked towards the other, “Ah, so you do rememb-”

He had nary a chance to finish his sentence before the Warrior slammed him against the back of the Node’s console. Clawed, gauntleted hands gripping the Garlean’s clothes and slamming him again with tremendous force.

“I killed you! How _dare_ you live to even show your face to me!” Snarled the Warrior, fangs bared, pupils narrowed in thin slits. Esteem began to claw his way to the surface, supping on the anger, the rancor, the vile hatred, the putrid lust for revenge.

Gaius’ expression of stern neutrality did not change past the initial hiss of being slammed against the console. He kept his arms out, showing his wish to merely converse and making no move to reach for his weapon to fight back.

“Stay your hand, Champion-”

“No! Fuck you! Fuck what you did to me and what you put the Scions through!” Hanze hissed, daring a hand to reel back, intent on slamming his fist right into that unhelmeted face, the call of the voice in his head screaming to break Gaius’ nose. 

Let the blood. Seek Vengeance.

But a firm hand grabbed Hanze’s wrist and he snarled like the dog he was to see Hien stopping him. The Doman’s face was stern and even, a look that told Hanze to calm himself, to let the past die.

“The Black Wolf has shed his pelt, never to return to Garlemald or her Legions. I live now only to exact revenge on the Ascians. Lahabrea used me as he used so many others,” Explained Gaius, still pressed against the console, unmoving.

Hien simply gave Hanze a curt nod and dared to let the au ra’s wrist free when the fist slowly unclenched itself.

Hanze growled low in his chest and released his hold on Gaius and the Garlean went to slowly stand as Hanze slowly moved back.

“Thank yo-”

No. 

A spray of blood and the ex-legatus clutched his jaw, having spun to grab the console for support to keep from stumbling further.

“Hanze!” Called Hien, grabbing the au ra by the arm again and moving to yank him back. 

“Back off, Hien!” He hissed, but the samurai did not.

Another, smaller pair of hands grabbed Hanze’s other arm and he wheeled the other way, ready to snarl and spit, but found Alisaie, looking up at him with eyes shining of barely contained tears.

“He kept Alphinaud safe and brought him back to us… at least give him that. He concedes his loss… let him languish in it,” her voice was even, but Hanze heard the waver and he could not keep hold of his anger. Not when she was all he had left. Alisaie was like the little sister he never had, Alphinaud the younger brother. Seeing them hurt filled him with nothing but an unbridled rage, and now that Alphinaud had been taken from them - from him…

Hanze sighed, his hackles visibly lowering, and he stepped back, offering a firm but gentle grip to Alisaie’s shoulder as she offered a sad smile to him. “Thank you, Hanze. He likely has intel he may yet offer us,” she added softly.

Hanze flicked an agitated glare at Gaius, who had recovered and the Warrior watched as the Garlean spat a globule of blood out onto the sand, rubbing his jaw.

“I do not begrudge you that swipe, Warrior… but understand I speak true. I have forsaken the Legions and have made it my personal mission to hunt the Ascians. Are the Scions not of like mind?”

“We are _not_ the same,” the au ra hissed, tail flicking back and forth in agitation. Alisaie placed a gentle hand on his forearm, keeping him calm and he offered her a simple nod indicating he would behave himself. For her.

“However, hunting Ascians does make us similar in that regard only, “ she added diplomatically, which granted her an even nod from the Black Wolf.

Hanze listened in silence, his glare never letting up as Gaius explained what he and his people had found. It was troubling to say the least, but Hanze behaved himself, grounding himself in Alisaie’s reassuring touch to his arm whenever she sensed his ire flare. 

Who would think a small, adolescent elezen girl could easily control and calm perhaps the most dangerous Beast of War the Alliance had...


	19. Reprieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 21 of #seaswolchallenge on tumblr.  
> -  
> Current Timeline: Stormblood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original prompt was 'Blessed', but part of the challenge stipulates that we can change prompts as we see fit. And I could not figure anything out for it, so I swapped it to something that fit a bit more!

Othard, and subsequently, Doma was such a world apart from what he had known. The customs, practices and even the mannerisms were foreign and different to Hanze. Despite the passing and vague interest that would briefly cross his mind, he quickly moved on, refusing to form attachments.

Haurchefant’s death was still a wound too raw and fresh on his heart, that all he could do to keep the anger down was to cut himself off emotionally. Esteem, the newer darkness within, thanks to his more recent training as a Dark Knight, was made manifest and still fought him for control. The two operated at a ceasefire rather than a truce. Hanze receded back into his quiet ways, allowing the other Scions to take control, point him in a direction and tell him what to kill. It was all he could muster and bear at this turn in his life.

And now he sat at the bottom of the Red Sea, in a bubble’d village of Raen. Au ra, like he, but their scales off-white and iridescent. They mentioned the Steppe Tribes, wondering if he was related, and all he could do was shake his head and keep his gaze down. He felt more different than usual, despite them being au ra like him.

Sensing his growing tire and despondency, his allies bade him stay in the village whilst they sought information and parlayed with the Confederacy at length.

Wandering the village, Hanze found himself in the small market area, idly looking at the handcrafted wares and savory looking street foods.

Thankfully he was given a wide berth for the most part. His foreign nature, dark imposing armor, blackened scales, and sour disposition kept the residents at bay, which he was thankful for. All except one, it seemed.

“Young man, why such a dower expression?” Asked an aged voice and he paused to set his sights on an elderly raen woman, her hair grayed and pulled back in a traditional Doman fashion, her horns gnarled and pitted with age.

Hanze moved to continue but her cane, moving to bar against his stomach lightly, stopped him. “It does not become you to disrespect your elders,” she chided him and he frowned.

“I am not Doman and do not know you,” he tried to keep his tone even. Esteem hissed, demanding control, the raging inferno in their soul stoked itself for no reason. Such unchecked aggression burning his insides as he resisted the glare he wished to throw this woman.

She scrutinized him and hummed, then nodded, “Ah… I see… well come along then,” she pulled a curtain aside, leading into a building and his nose crinkled.

“No,” was all he said, before moving to continue and walk off.

“You do them little honor with your anger,” she called after him and despite his better judgement, he stopped.

“What?” he glanced over his shoulder and she smiled softly.

“The one you loved. Would you truly dishonor their memory with such poisonous hatred and anger tainting your heart and soul?”

Hanze could not resist the raise of his eyebrows before forcing himself to look away, “Y-you’re mistaken. I love no one.”

“But you did love once.”

Gods dammit. Twelve just smite him down where he stood and let the wind scatter his ashes.

“Come along then. A dip in the Onsen and a good haircut will do wonders for you,” she pulled the curtain back again and Hanze hesitated. For far too long.

“An… Onsen?” he ventured.

Her plaintive smile only grew warmer, “A hot spring, dear boy. They are believed to help cleanse the soul and heal the spirit. Not to mention ease aches and pains of the body.”

A bath? Really? She could just say he stunk. Whatever. If it got her to leave him alone.

“Fine. If you say I need a bath, then fine,” he grumbled

She smiled and ushered him inside to an inviting entrance. He had learned quickly that tradition and courtesy dedicate he take off his boots at the door, so he stopped, unstrapping his grieves and armor plates, then slipped from his boots. 

She ushered him towards a curtain along one side, “This half is for the gentlemen only. You may disrobe in there and rinse yourself of impurities before continuing further.”

“I have to bathe before I am allowed to bathe?” He asked, lifting an eyebrow and she nodded, not elaborating further, sensing his irritation. And probably noticing the agitated flick of his tail.

Before she could continue, he just sighed and pushed past the curtain and went about unstrapping his armor and getting out of his under clothes. He did as instructed and rinsed himself of sweat and grime first before wrapping a towel around his waist and proceeding further in.

The hot spring itself was quiet, with the natural features left as they primarily were. He did not realize there could be undersea hot springs, but then… what with the volcano nearby, thermal vents were only natural.

The spring was large, he gathered, noticing the sudden partition wall of tightly laced bamboo cutting it in half. There were no gaps to see the other side and it seemed regularly maintained, but he did hear soft conversation on the other side.

His side, the men’s side, was empty save for himself and he appreciated that at the very least. Stepping into the spring, he expected it to be scalding and unbearable, but not quite so. Hanze found himself a corner to sit against, letting himself sink up to his neck. He didn’t believe in the healing properties, but he did appreciate the soothing quality the hot water provided to his muscles and joints.

For once, in as long as he could remember, the tumultuous thoughts that constantly ricocheted against his mind calmed and he was left with a sleepy calmness.  
-  
After what felt like he had dozed off, Hanze opened his eyes to find himself still quietly alone in the onsen. Whether anyone had passed through was unclear to him and he made to exit. He found his usual clothes and armor gone, and in their place a traditional robe he had seen men in Kugane wear. A yukata, he believed it was called.

He half wondered why he was surprised that it fit his stature and was cut to accommodate his tail, having to remind himself he was in a village of au ra, and managed to pull it around himself after some struggle with the ties.

Upon exiting, he found the elderly woman waiting at a sort of receptionists desk, scribbling in a ledger. She smiled upon looking up at him and moved to expertly fuss with his obvious mishandling of his yukata, pulling it properly into place for him.

“Don’t you feel much better?”

“I think I feel asleep…”

She only smiled and nodded, patting his arm as she moved away, “That tends to happen. It is very relaxing. Now, I have you set to head to the eatery across the way for a hearty meal and then see about your hair.”

“My hair? What’s wrong with my hair?”

“It needs a trim, dear.” she stated evenly and Hanze just sighed, rubbing his forehead. He was tired still and not in the mood to argue.

“And my armor and gear?”

“The armor has been sent off for maintenance and cleaning, and your clothes are being laundered. Return here to fetch them once you have eaten and been tended to.”

Hanze sighed softly, but slipped on the sandals that had been set out for him and made his way across to the small eatery the Onsen proprietor had instructed him to.  
-  
The food was excellent and the server was polite and mild mannered, then again, he noticed many of the Domans were. He gave a gruff thank you here and there, but mostly picked at his food in silence. He did not want to seem rude so he forced himself to eat what he could. The food was excellent and flavorful, but he hated eating most days. It exhausted him, his lack of appetite only making food in his stomach cause nausea on the better days.

The sake was good… he liked that.  
-  
By the time evening fell, Hanze was returned to his armor, his hair trimmed, conditioned and pulled back into a high, but short ponytail that made him fit in a bit more.

His allies did not venture too many questions and simply offered him a smile before they were off onto their next venture. Despite the frustration Hanze felt in between fleeting moments, it was nice to forget himself for a day at the very least. His armor was cleaned and polished and he felt a bit more rested than he had felt in months.

It was by no means a permanent fix, but he did manage to get a bit of sleep more than he usually did. 

Even if it did come from an old woman brandishing a cane at him.


	20. Ferality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 22 of #seaswolchallenge on tumblr.  
> -  
> Current Timeline: 5.4 (following #17 Leave)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been nothing but sadness lately, but I promise there's a light at the end of this tunnel. We just gotta get there!

_”You live for these moments - when all hangs in the balance… when the difference between life and death is but a single stroke.”_

…  
…

_”I live for them too! This is who we are, my friend! This is all we are!”_

…  
…

_”To bite down on my jugular and feel my blood fill your mouth…”_

…  
…

_”We tower above the gods! You by your gift, I by my might!”_

…

_We are not so different, he and I._

Hanze carefully paced after the sin eater, watching as it keened and stumbled to be rid of him. A pity it still felt the vestiges of mortal fear as dark, plaintive eyes watched it. The soft chime of spurs clinking closer and closer as it smeared a trail of shimmering blood in its wake.

In a wet slice and spray of blood, its pitiful choking was silenced and Hanze lifted a hand to wipe a smear from his cheek. 

Nothing.

No joy, no satisfaction. Only sorrow and anger.

He was outpacing the heartache as best he could… but he was the sin eater - begging for life, crawling along and leaving a macabre trail of blood as the darkness encroached upon him.

He looked over at the rising sun casting bands of pinks and oranges across Kholusia. A beautiful sunrise, just like the one he had shared with Aymeric-

Turning away quickly, Hanze sheathed his greatsword, continuing his daily prowl for new prey to entertain him. He was finding compensation, of course, but it only served to buy him drink and the usual wash at the end of the day.

Tally bounties by day, use his pay to buy booze by evening, abscond to Il Mheg and hide away on a high cliff’s edge by night. Pass out, wake to a hangover the next morning, rinse, repeat.

He had lost track of days, a lingering worry of the fate of the Source nagged the back of his mind, but the booze quickly made him forget, quickly reminded him that caring was pointless.

Esteem was quiet, but Hanze felt him, prowling the corners of their shared mind and soul like a wolf, waiting for an easy meal. But he refused full control when offered. ‘Too easy. I do not take pitiful prey that lays down to die. I will kill you on my own,’ he’d growl, leaving Hanze to his devices. Perhaps he was cross, perhaps he had given up or was truly waiting for a moment of weakness.

Hanze had naught a care in the world and simply passed the days, one by one, drinking his memories away thought by thought. 

As he stared up at the stars, watching them twinkle, memories of the lightwardens crossed his mind. He pressed a hand to his chest, suddenly feeling the pain of the Light return. He sat up, struggling to breathe, feeling the Light crack his insides and he coughed and coughed, curling forward and trying to purge it from him.

He wheezed, eyes wide and blurred with tears as he felt himself changing again. He looked up and saw the Ascian’s face, sneering down at him like the worthless mongrel dog he was. 

_“You will bring destruction… a maddened beast…”_

The burn of golden eyes crouched before him and spoke, but Hanze could not hear over the ear piercing whine deafening him. And then the Ascian reached forward and slapped him across the face, sending Hanze the other way, toppling into the grass.

And just as quickly as it had come, it faded. He was back in a quiet Il Mheg with the night sky staring down at this pitiful creature with a bored impassiveness.

“Thank you… Ryne?” he sat up, looking around bewildered, only spying his chocobo some yalms away, curled up by the fire and dozing off.

Had Ryne left? He wondered, looking around in confusion, unsure what exactly had transpired, but it was over now and he moved to sit up properly as trembling hands reached for his bottle. 

He had to drink more and more each night to calm the shaking, to stop the light from consuming him as it always tried to do. It was still in him, clawing at his insides, eating him from the inside out. It was only a matter of time before he became the beast he was meant to become.

_”Woe betide the Weapon of Light.”_


	21. Innocence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 23 for #seaswolcahllenge on tumblr.  
> -  
> Current Timeline: 5.4 (Following #20 Ferality)

“There you go, Warrior. How is everyone back home?” asked Xylle, offering a smile as she slid the satchel of coins his way.

“Well. I am taking a vacation,” he lied smoothly, taking his payment.

“Excellent! Nothing like taking a break from saving the world by taking up a few bounties, eh?”

He merely nodded and bid her farewell and headed towards the Crystalline mean to resupply.

“Hanze!” called a cheerful voice as two familiar, young women jogged up to him. Well, one did, the other languidly walked.

“Ah… Hello Ryne, Gaia,” he nodded at them politely.

Ryne excitedly took his hand in hers, bouncing with excitement, “I have news! We are almost done planning the festival, you are still planning to attend, right?”

Precious and sweet Ryne. She would be like a daughter to him if he was anywhere near a fatherly figure, so he stuck with thinking her more a younger sister.

“It is in the cards, yes. But you know I cannot make concrete promises at the risk of breaking them. All I can promise is that I will try my hardest to attend without issue,” he offered and Ryne looked away pensively, then nodded with a soft smile.

“How have you been? I heard you were out and about, taking up bounties. Why did you not come and say hello?”

“Yes, I am taking a short vacation of sorts. I did not know you were in town, as it were,” he replied evenly, allowing her to swing his hand lightly. He did not begrudge her her need for physical contact and affirmation of his existence. What she had been forced to endure all her life, and how they had almost lost Gaia… He would allow her to cling to his hand and assure herself of his corporealness.

Hanze looked to Gaia, “And I do hope you are not allowing Ryne too many coffee biscuits?” he mused and Gaia offered a smirk and shrug in return. 

“I cannot say that I am not trying, but sometimes those sad doll eyes come out and who am I to say no?”

“Ah, growing soft against her, are we?” Hanze replied coolly, tail swaying in bemusement.

Gaia blinked, turning away and crossing her arms with a hmph, causing Ryne to blush and giggle. “How long will you be staying? Do you have time to sit with us now?”

Hanze had the reflex to make an excuse, but those sad eyes implored him to stay and talk. To sit with them for some coffee. And much like when the twins asked something of him, he couldn’t say no to Ryne.

“I just received today’s payment, so your timing is most fortuitous as ever. Lead the way,” he smiled lightly, watching as the redhead lit up. “Have you tried coffee biscuits yet? I know I never stop talking about them but they are so good!”

“I’ve had one before… but I would not mind partaking in one today,” Hanze conceded lightly.

“Only one? Watching your figure, are we, O’ Warrior of Darkness?” mused Gaia as the trio made their way downstairs.

Hanze hummed thoughtfully, “No. All the fat goes to my tail, so I do not worry too much.”

This caused both girls to pause and attempt to slyly glance behind at his tail to gauge if his words held truth. 

“Must be lucky, having a tail to take all the negatives of food from your middle,” murmured Gaia.

“Oh not particularly. Having a tail is fun until nothing is cut or designed to fit it, or someone sits on it,” he shrugged, causing the two to erupt with laughter.

“Oh, poor Hanze,” cooed Ryne teasingly, patting his arm reassuringly.

“How many times has your tail been sat on, then?” asked Gaia, looking back up to his face.

“A fair few times, surprisingly,” Hanze shrugged, sitting down at a patio front table with the girls.

“Well, you two can chat while I go inside and set our orders,” Gaia stated, wandering inside.

He set his pack and greatsword to the side, sliding off his helmet as well.

Ryne’s smile fell slightly, “How are you feeling?”

“Well enough. A bit tired… Ryne I…” he hesitated, sparing a glance towards the sky. It was a normal, sunny day.

“Last night, I… Are you _sure_ there is no more uncontrolled, Light-bound aether inside me?” he idly rubbed his chest and she canted her head, peering at him.

She then smiled and shook her head, “No. Your soul is denser, but you already knew that. As far as I can tell, everything is in alignment and perfectly balanced. Are you not feeling well?”

She leaned across the table and gently set her hand atop his in comfort. Hanze did not meet her gaze, “I’m not entirely sure. Last night, I could have sworn that… Nevermind. I believe you. If you say that all is well, then I have nothing to worry about,” he offered a gentle smile, which seemed to ease the young woman’s worry as she sat back.

Gaia returned momentarily, plopping in the seat next to Ryne with a dramatic sigh.

Hanze peered at Gaia for a few moments, remembering what she was and realizing they were not so different. Were all Ascians like her - choosing to live in peace with new friends rather than unmake the world. Gaia acted aloof and disinterested, but Hanze could tell all she wanted was to belong, and to have happiness. Not an uncommon wish, but he was glad she had Ryne to ground her.

“Well, I suppose since I am here, everyone sends their regards. Urianger and Thancred are off in Garlemald on some infiltration mission, so I do not have any direct messages from them.”

Ryne visibly deflated at the news and Hanze reached over to gently pat the top of her hand, “You know they are more than capable. Do not fret, Ryne,” he assured and she nodded, offering her titular smile.

“But if you wish to draft a wordy letter on their presumed recklessness, I would be more than happy to deliver it,” he mused, which earned a giggle from her. That was more like it - he hated seeing her so dour.

“And what about you? What is going on in the Warrior of Darkness’ interesting and unique life?” Gaia mused, though her smile was genuine, albeit subtle.

“Me? Oh… thankfully all is quiet for now. I have taken up assisting the Restoration of a housing district in Ishgard,” he shrugged.

“Oh! Oh, you’ve mentioned Ishgard before. It is like Voeburt, yes?” Ryne sat up, eyes sparkling.

“Yes, but not as pastoral, if you recall as well. Ishgard is a land of ice and snow. But Her people are rebuilding their lives, and have called on the assistance of builders and artisans of the realm. I provide what assistance I can,” he shrugged.

Soon enough, their drinks and pastries were served and Hanze took a moment to sip his coffee as he watched Ryne carefully separate the biscuit and set Gaia’s half on her plate. He seemed to fade into the background as he watched the two exchange soft smiles, their eyes telling more to each other than words ever could. He envied it a bit.

And then Gaia looked at him, “So, tell us about this Ser Aymeric then,” she asked bluntly and Hanze sputtered into his coffee, having to sit up and reach for a napkin to wipe his mouth. “Beg pardon?”

Gaia blinked, “Ohhh…. Was I not supposed to say anything?” she glanced to Ryne who looked down at her plate sheepishly.

“I… uhm… well I may have mentioned to Gaia about when you talked about Ishgard and your friends there. I remember you mentioning a ‘Lord commander Aymeric’ and he seemed nice.”

Hanze tried to save face, sitting up and clearing his throat, “Ah yes… I must have mentioned that he was instrumental in helping usher in peace talks with the Dravanians after the war. He is a very capable and intelligent man who is loyal to Ishgard and Her people.”

“Is that all?”

“What do you mean ‘is that all’?” Hanze squinted at Gaia.

She shrugged and took a sip of her drink, “The way it was told to me, you love the man,” she set deep blue eyes on him, her graze unwavering.

Hanze set his cup down, perhaps a trite harder than he meant to, “I respect him.” he shot a look at Gaia.

She nodded and leaned closer to Ryne, whispering a not so quiet, ‘He’s in love’. Which caused Ryne to giggle.

Hanze resisted the withering glare, playing this off as teenagers taking their fun where they could.

“If you two are quite finished?”

“Oh absolutely not,” retorted Gaia, shooting the au ra a sly smirk and Hanze balked.

“You should bring him some biscuits!” Ryne suggested and Hanze looked away, muttering something.

“What was that?”

A huff, his tail flicking in agitation, “I already have,” he stupidly admitted and the two giggled in triumph. All he could do was rub his forehead and sigh, sinking into his chair and wishing to evaporate into dust on the spot.

“Oh, do not be that way, Hanze. I am sure he cares for you in return. Who can resist the Warrior of Darkness - or Light, in your world,” Ryne teased and Hanze wished to cease his existence right then and there.

He would gladly march into battle and slay gods and Ascians alike over being subjected to the teases and jeers of two teenage girls. He got enough of this from Alisaie, he really did not need more of this from Ryne and Gaia.

“Forgive us, Hanze… I didn’t realize you were so shy on the subject-”

“I’m not!” he interrupted, “I just find the topic of conversation wholly inappropriate. It does not do for the Warrior of Darkness or Light to entertain such flights of fancy,” he sat up, finishing off his coffee.

Ryne’s smile fell, “It doesn’t?”

“No. I must attend to my duty and responsibilities first and foremost. This leaves little time to cultivate such frivolous bonds. But forgive me, the hour grows late and I must resupply before tomorrow. It was nice seeing you both again,” Hanze stated, getting up and grabbing his things.

Ryne frowned sadly as she watched him walk off before looking to Gaia. “Does he really believe that?”

Gaia frowned as well, “Heavy is the head that bears the crown…. Or something like that.”

“To think he does not believe himself allowed to love…” 

“He’s not here on vacation, is he?”

“Do you think they had an argument?”

“In the short time I’ve known him, he seems to rather avoid these subjects rather than argue them altogether.”

“He just ran from us, didn’t he?”

“It does seem that way.”


	22. Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 24 for #seaswolchallenge on tumblr.  
> \--  
> Current Timeline: 5.4 (Following #21 Innocence)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a quick heads up, I have a few prompts that are lingering here near the end. And frankly, I may need to take a break for a few days to really think and work on them. I've noticed in my haste and excitement to push something out daily, my writing quality has suffered overall.
> 
> I want to make these last few prompts read really well! So that means I may miss a few days here. 
> 
> Thank you for your patience and support! <3

The stars of the First twinkled in the night sky as a warm breeze carried along the sweet scent of wildflowers. Hanze lay on his back, cushioned amidst soft pillowy flowers that did not mind his company. This high up on the cliffside in Il Mheg, there was a serene quiet as most of the fae did not venture this far from their settlements.

He was as far from the Source, and his problems, as he could physically be and yet he still felt the crushing hurt within his ribcage. He could just… stay here forever. He could give in to the fae and their carefree nature. He could run, as he always did, as he always wanted to.

Closing his eyes and allowing the breeze to lull him, Hanze sighed, trying to quell the static. Having spent the greater part of the day chasing remnant sin eaters helped keep him occupied, but not even their pitiful blood against his blade could sate him; could quell the loud thoughts.

He turned onto his side with a huff; causing petals and pollen to erupt skyward to be quickly carried off in the breeze. It was no different than when he tried to sleep in his bed; too many thoughts, too many woes and worries.

Screwing his eyes shut and clutching his head, he begged the static to go away. He was tired and wanted to stop. Just stop. He let out a sharp breath as the static, the noise, the deafening roar stilled with a sudden halt.

Wha-

Then he felt the gentle and warm hand carding thin fingers through his bangs, gently brushing them from his face. He looked up to see the Faery King.

“My poor /sapling/,” their words were not of pity, or thinly veiled faux concern. In their eyes was a profound and genuine sorrow.

“My poor, beautiful /sapling/. How you have weathered the storms and have lost your vibrancy. How sickly you have become now that the rot has taken hold and your roots wither…” they sat in the flowers next to him, moving to pull him into their lap and there was the expected protest, the wriggling to be let go.

All they did was softly hush him as a mother would to a fussy child. He was tired, so exhausted and fed up that he relented, allowing them to move him as they pleased. Feo Ul smelled of purest sunshine and of the sweetest wildflowers.

“Would you have really let me take the artefacts to become King?” he muttered tiredly, staring off into nothing.

“Of course I would have, but it is not your way.” they gently pulled the tie from his hair to let it fall free and continued to comb gentle fingers through it.

“Isn’t it? Because I’m a mortal? You do not think me capable?”

“Far from it, my dearest /sapling/. At the time, you were determined on your path, your goal to see your efforts through. I would not take it from you, or force you to abandon your path,” they replied patiently.

“And now?”

Feo Ul was quiet for a time, but continued to hold him close, their presence warm and comforting and for once, for mercifully once, his head was quiet. So, peacefully empty and still.

“Not now… your soul is too heavy with sorrow and hatred. A bitter rot has taken hold of you and no one has been there to tend to you, to help you. And you refuse to call me. Have you given up?”

“Yes…”

“Please do not say such things… you are my most precious sapling. My favorite one in all of the grove, and yet you refuse to grow and have let your color fade… why?” 

“I… do not know. Ever since…- I cannot think, I cannot eat, or sleep. My head is filled with static and noise. Everything is too loud, I cannot hear myself in my own head. The only thing that quells the noise is violence… blood… the chaos of a battlefield… and alcohol.”

“Is that what you believe? Or what your enemies have told you?”

“Enemies or no… they’re not far off. I will become the monster they want me to be. It is the only thing that I can see in my end.”

“Filthy monsters coming into my garden to poison my sapling,” their voice was low and… angry. A different sort of loathing anger that he had never heard of them.

He lifted his head to look up at them and he saw the shine of tears in their eyes. Feo Ul looked down at him and smiled, placing a warm, tender hand to his cheek.

“You are not a monster. You are a wonderful mortal that has saved countless lives and have defended your friends. In a way, you cultivated and tended your own garden, but you have let it wither. You must carry on and not linger in your despair,” they smiled encouragingly. 

He did not meet their gaze and moved to pull away. Running away again.

But they kept him there, and did not allow him to run. “Stop running,” their tone was gentle but firm.

“I-I’m not-”

“Hanze…” came their firm tone and he froze like a child having been caught stealing sweets before supper.

“Why do you let their poison in? Why do you not listen to your friends and family when they offer warmth of friendship and kind words of family?”

“I-I…”

Feo Ul lifted a hand to card gentle fingers through his loose hair, offering a patient smile, “You are afraid. Afraid that you must avoid others and keep fighting. You feel that your victories are your only purpose. That to win and fight is the only thing that defines your worth.”

“Isn’t it? I did not want this… to become what I am. An adventurer, yes… but never the Warrior of Light… or Darkness.”

“But you were a boy that just wanted to help,” they spoke aloud for him and all he could do was nod pitifully, leaning against them.

“It is true, you are not a small time adventurer. You tip the very balance with your actions, but that does not make them any less or any more than someone rounding up a farmer’s chickens for him. When you set out on your new life, you had a pure wish to help, to do good in the world. But the traumas of the battlefield have left their marks and you have loved and lost. And darkness has gripped your heart.”

Hanze sighed, hating how the words stung in their truth.

“How… how do I get better, then? How do I fix me?”

“You must want to get better… to let the noise go, to rid yourself of this poison. There are countless upon countless lives you have touched. The ones closest to you only wish to help nurture your soul in return. There are some who take and take, yes. But those are the false gardeners. The ones who poison and take what they want. Then there are your friends, your family and your allies; they have taken their fill and only wish to enrich the soil and replant anew. They love you, just as I do. Do not push them away or lock them out. You are worthy of their love, just as they are worthy of yours’.”

“But the poison has leached into the soil… nothing more can grow…” he muttered, looking back at the empty space of flowers, but not seeing.

“It is never an easy road, and for mortals, it never was and never will be. But to let your delicate lives be dictated by sufferings will avail you naught. Do as we fae do and let go, live the moments, no matter how small or large.”

They sighed softly petting his hair and pulling him into a tight hug. Hanze shuddered briefly, curling into their arms… and then he broke. He hadn’t heard or realized the sob until the tears were streaming down his face. 

No. Stop. Stop crying. _STOP IT!_

But the tears would not stop and all he could do was choke on them and curl into himself tightly as the warmth of daylight and the tight wrap of comfort from Feo Ul cocooned him.

“I don’t know who I am anymore,” he managed between sobs, voice muffled behind the hands he pressed against his face in a futile effort to dam the tears.

“The answer will return to you in time, but you must let the gardeners into the grove to heal the land and nurture the soil. Tell him how much he means to you, else wise you may lose him.”

“Wh- How-?” he lifted his head from his hands to look up at them.

They only smiled, laughing gently, “You always come here and stare at the ruins of Voeburt and think of home. I saw the love in your eyes as you purchased the bracelet and muttered how it would match his eyes,” they grinned gently booping the tip of his nose with their index finger.

Hanze felt his face heat up as he looked away and sighed, “He does not love me in return and… the mortal matters of his home are… complicated… it would never work out. You would positively hate it there,” came his bitter laugh.

“You are correct, I may not know who he is or what silly mortal taboos there are, but tell me; what did he do with the bracelet? The coffee biscuits? The tarts?”

“Well I… he… he said he enjoyed the pastries. I do not know about the bracelet…”

They hummed knowingly, but merely smiled, “Go see him again and look to see if he wears it. If he does; then you have your answer. And promise to do as we fae do; live in the moment and live your life to its fullest joys. You have had enough sorrow and pain. There must be room for happiness and rapture,” they caressed his cheek again, thin fingers trailing his jaw and lifting his chin.

“Running does nothing but make you tired, allowing the pain of sorrow and anger to easily eat at you. They are patient and persistent hunters. You must turn and face them, and fight them for your happiness,” Feo Ul leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

Warmth and peace rippled through his body and he sighed tiredly. “Maybe after a nap,” he muttered, which earned a joyful laugh from the King.

“Of course, my loveliest /sapling/. You must rest and recoup your strength! I shall have Tyr Beq make you sweets to take back and share as you see fit.” they smiled, allowing him to slide from their lap and stand up.

Hanze brushed some stray petals from his person as Feo Ul rose to their full height as well, easily towering over him. 

“Thank you, Feo Ul,” he offered with a tired but grateful nod.

They placed a gentle hand atop his head, petting his hair, “Of course! I am your /branch/ and you are my /sapling/! I will never let you wither and hurt. Just remember to call on me when you need me. There is never weakness or shame in calling for help. Remember this,” they smiled.

“I’ll… I will try,” he muttered sheepishly and they nodded, pulling away from him.

“It is all I can ask. Be well, Hanze,” they giggled, disappearing into shimmering pixie dust, no doubt returning to the castle.

He felt somewhat better, but knew it would be a long road with battles he had never fought before. He thought of his friends and knew he had to do better by them, for them. The battles were not over, and he needed to be strong enough to protect them, come what may. 

It would be a hard fought battle to see himself through this, but he had to try… He had to. For his happiness.


	23. Revenant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For #seaswolchallenge on tumblr.  
> -  
> Current Timeline: 5.4 (Following #22 Soul)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. Still working on some prompt but the few days helped me relax a little. Thanks for your patience!

His office was quiet as usual, save only for the occasional exterior noise outside of the congregation, or from the bells tolling at their appointed hours. Aymeric was grateful that Hanze had forced him to rest a week, as he was more focused and seeing an end to his daily paperwork.

The last phase of the Restoration was going smoothly as the skybuilders and crafters, from around the realm, flocked to help Ishgard pick up the pieces. There was a light at the end of the tunnel; a flicker of hope in the darkness.

And yet… After his week of restful imprisonment had passed, Hanze left without so much of a word. Aymeric could tell the au ra was troubled and left him to it, not wanting to stoke his ire. It had been several weeks since he had seen or heard from the Warrior, however.

Aymeric inquired with Francel if he had seen Hanze in the firmament, or catching a flight to the Diadem, but to his dismay, the young Ishgardian had confirmed that Warrior had scarcely been seen. Just as well, everyone knew his attention was constantly divided, but in checking with the Scions, even Garlond Ironworks; The Warrior of Light seemed to have fallen off the face of the map.

Aymeric knew the Warrior had his own agenda, and obeyed his own whims, but Aymeric missed him… seeing so much of the tall blond previously only left a bitter coldness in his chest at the other’s pronounced absence. Aymeric pushed the worry from his mind and continued to fill out his reports as the hour grew late. 

Hanze had made him promise that dusk was his cut off for the workday. A schedule was agreed upon to keep his health. But the Restoration process was in full swing and with the speed and efficiency in which the builders were working through, Aymeric had to keep up with the mounting paperwork.

He had lost track of time when a soft knock sounded from his office door, “Enter,” he called tiredly, not looking up.

“Ah… Lord Speaker Borel, Lucia tasked me to remind you of your workday… it is several bells past sundown, ser…” the knight spoke with a slight timidness.

Aymeric waved a dismissive hand as he continued to write, “Yes, yes, thank you. I appreciate her concern, but I must needs finish today's reports.”

“U-uhm…. Yes, ser, however…”

“Thank you, knight. That will be all,” Aymeric stated evenly, but felt the tire in his eyes and the strain in his back and neck.

The door closed with a small click and Aymeric continued to write as the gas light’s flame flickered.

He moved, without looking, to dip his quill in his ink pot as the tip of his writing implement tapped the wood of his desk. Furrowing his brow, he looked over to see the ink pot gone. Had he moved it…?

He froze, realizing someone stood in front of his desk, silently putting the cap back on his ink pot with an audible click. He followed the tall form to an all too familiar face. It was at that exact and precise moment that Lord Speaker Aymeric de Borel, had indeed failed on a spectacularly cosmic scale.

“Bells, Aymeric. Bells since dusk,” the voice stated evenly, that eerie, glowing stare pinning him to his chair. He had been caught red handed and there was no squirming his way out of this one.

The Warrior raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms in wait.

Aymeric swallowed the lump in his throat and fought the heat of the blush that threatened to race across his face at how that gaze pinned him. “How the time flies,” he smiled, but the Warrior’s squint narrowed.

“Up. It is far past supper and you will _not_ miss it,” the other threatened and Aymeric believed that threat with all his soul as he hurriedly set his quill aside and moved to stand. As he did, his back popped and his head felt light. 

He stumbled around his desk, feeling his world suddenly flip, but strong arms caught him. “Let me guess, you forgot to eat today,” it was not a question and Aymeric sighed. 

“Aymeric… we agreed…” The tone was not stern or admonishing. It was… hurt. He dared to look up at the au ra, who stood a few ilms taller, and his heart dropped as he was met with a look of concern and disappointment.

The disappointment was what pierced and stung deeper than any blade. “Forgive me… I… the Restoration, I-” he was cut off with a gentle hand at his cheek and his mind went blank. 

Hanze sighed, thumb rubbing along the elezen’s high cheek bone, “What are we going to do with you, hmm?” he mused, and Aymeric was suddenly aware of their close proximity; aware of how his hands splayed against that broad firm chest, how the Warrior’s arms encircled him so closely. 

“I can walk home, I assure you,” he attempted, regaining his balance and moving to stand on his own feet. Thankfully the other allowed him to pull away as needed despite the Ishgardian’s desperate desire to stay in those arms.

“Good, I brought something back from the First,” Hanze turned to leave, leading Aymeric out of his office. So that’s where he had been? Well… that was one way to fall off anyone’s map; simply go to another world. 

“Oh? Pray tell, what is it?” his curiosity peaked as they made their way to the pillars, following the same familiar streets towards Aymeric’s home. 

“Honey petals, they are a sweet, courtesy of the pixies of Il Mheg. Best only to have one as they are laden with honey,” he cautioned. 

Aymeric smiled at the Warrior, touched by his thoughtfulness to always bring something back for him. As they reached the door to Borel Manor, Hanze paused to reach into his pack and pull out a colorfully wrapped package, “Here they are. Now I trust you will have a full supper and a proper rest?” he pinned Aymeric with that stare again.

“You are not… staying?”

Hanze’s stern expression fell into a sort of bewilderment, “I- well, I… I would not want to impose…” he trailed off and Aymeric couldn’t tell in the dark of early evening but he wanted to think he saw the other’s cheeks darken. He smiled, “Nonsense, you are always welcome! And how long have I owed you another dinner?” he mused as Hanze shifted, clearing his throat.

“Of course, thank you, Aymeric. I accept your invitation,” came the overly polite response and the Ishgardian could not help but give the au ra a bright smile.  
-  
Of course supper was excellent as usual. Hanze couldn’t help but feel his heart pound against his rib cage when he saw the shine and glint of the bracelet wrapped against Aymeric’s wrist. He stalled the conversation to take a sip of his water, of course refusing the wine for personal reasons. 

“Allow me to again thank you for assisting with the Restoration. To see the rubble being cleared away, and finding homes for the citizens…” Aymeric sighed softly, his gaze trailing off to a recent and tumultuous past, one they both lived.

“Of course, Aymeric,” Hanze replied quickly, attempting to yank the other from the horrors of the war. “And once the Firmament is restored, you Ishgardians can lick your salt rocks in peace,” he looked down to grab a fork full of food, only to stop when he heard the choked sputter.

Looking up just in time to see Aymeric politely wiping his mouth of wine, he grinned at the other’s confused expression. “Beg pardon? Our _what_?”

Hanze rolled his lips together in a thin line, desperate to keep a straight face. He cleared his throat, managing to keep the giggle down, “Oh come now, Aymeric. A man of your refinement does not partake in the Ishgardian tradition of licking the fine Diadem rock salt?” The giggle bubbled out near the end and the Warrior barely managed to reel it back.

“I… where, by the Fury, did you hear such a thing? I assure you we do not… lick rocks?” Aymeric stared at Hanze in complete and utter bewilderment and the blond couldn’t contain his laugh. 

And he couldn’t stop, gods why did he find it so funny? Why? Of all the assinine and idiotic things; licking rocks?

“I… I was wondering what had happened; the war ends and you completely upheave your entire basis of government to then begin licking rocks, I was worried Ishgard had lost its mind!” he continued past his giggles, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

Aymeric smiled, however, laughing as well, “No… well, I should hope not, Halone preserve us if we opened our borders only to lose all sense of decency,” he grinned, enjoying the mirth the other radiated. His laugh was intoxicating, and Aymeric noticed for the first time how sharp his fangs were past his smile and laugh.

Hanze soon managed to recompose himself for the most part and went to sip his water, “Forgive me… I could not let that one slip by without teasing you first. The rumors and silly anecdotes I hear while in the Diadem offer quite the entertainment,” he offered his explanation and Aymeric nodded.

“I see, well far be it from me to keep the skybuilders from their silly stories. As long as they are all… innocent?” he ventured cautiously, relaxing at the affirming nod. 

“Oh yes, all quite silly… some quite lewd, but nothing that slanders a person or newly founded ideals that were struggled for,” Hanze shrugged, looking down at his food to continue eating.

Aymeric busied himself with his wine, trying to ignore his curiosity about these ‘lewd’ stories.  
-  
As promised, the pixie sweets were almost too much for Aymeric two bites in. They were sweetened rose petals dipped in a crystalized honey of some fashion. They held a floral note atop the sweet sugary avalanche of well… sugar.

“Merciful Halone are these sweet,” Aymeric had to wash the sugary taste down with the tartness of his wine, though it helped little.

“I warned you,” Hanze grinned, “It only makes sense children would put far too much sugar into a treat,” he grinned.

“Children?” Aymeric ventured and Hanze looked away, “Perhaps I will elaborate another time. For now, the treats will keep…” he trailed off.

Aymeric canted his head slightly, “Is aught amiss?” 

Hanze stared off to the side, lost in thought for a moment, “I uh… I was just-.... Does the bracelet fit well?” he glanced down to his gift that Aymeric had forgotten he wore. He felt the heat rise to his cheeks as he glanced down at the finely crafted piece of jewelry, “Ah yes, it fits quite well, thank you.”

Hanze nodded, visibly swallowing the lump in his throat as he looked away again, “I am… glad to hear it.”

Aymeric smiled, turning his wrist a bit, admiring how the crystals caught and glinted in the light, “Yes, I have received a great many compliments on its craftsmanship,” he looked back up to the au ra, noting how flushed the other’s face was.

“Ah… have you? The crafters of the Crystarium are quite the talented and skilled lot of artisans, I will give them that.”

“Yes, but you picked out a suitable color. Lucia mentioned how it quite matched my eyes,” he chuckled.

“Did she?” Hanze’s voice cracked and he was quick to clear his throat and correct himself, “Did she? How interesting.”

Aymeric’s heart leapt and fluttered in his chest at the other’s reaction. He searched the other’s expression, a silent hope blossoming in his heart. Mayhap there was still a chance after all. Despite his want to press the topic further, he did not want to chase the other away, so he changed topics.

“Will you continue assisting with the Restoration, then?”

“Ah, yes, I was planning on that… provided I do not get called away due to more pressing matters-” Hanze blanched, looking back to Aymeric, “Not that the Restoration effort is not important! I just meant-”

“Be at ease, I knew what you meant. You do us much and more to aid Ishgard. I do not believe I can ever thank you enough for all that you have done for the city, for her people, for me,” he smiled softly, finding himself gazing into those darkened eyes. They were black as darkest night save for the thin light blue ring of the iris, but he did not feel a fear when gazing into them. They were intense and could certainly pin him where he stood, but never evoked anything wholly negative in Aymeric. Perhaps due, in part, to never being on the receiving end of a withering glare.

Hanze nodded, looking down at his food and venturing a bite of it, perhaps to break the eye contact he so fervently avoided. Aymeric had to resist the sigh that bubbled in his chest and went to sip his wine. 

“Of course, Aymeric…” the au ra chuckled suddenly and Aymeric looked to him curiously, “Remember when you first met us? Some young, brash elezen boy and some silent aura? I remember you meeting with us in Camp Dragonhead and politicking around Alphinaud when he tried to trap you into diplomatically helping us,” he grinned, then laughed, “I thought you a right bastard for a while,” he mused, only laughing again at Aymeric’s slightly horrified expression.

“Yes, well… I admit I was merely protecting mine and mine own-”

“Aymeric, there’s no need to explain yourself. I understand. You did not know us and had no reason to believe, let alone trust foreigners. Even if you did come off a bit looking down your nose at us,” he grinned at the flustered elezen.

“Well I dearly hope that is no longer the case,” Aymeric urged, looking at Hanze searchingly and releasing his held breath when the other shook his head.

“No, I do not think you are a right bastard anymore,” he mused, drinking his water.

“What do you think me now?” Aymeric dared, noting how Hanze had to consciously keep from choking on his drink.

“Well…” he carefully set his glass back down, schooling his expression, “If I did not enjoy your company, I would not give you the time of day,” the au ra replied evenly, idly tracing the rim of his glass with a finger, avoiding Aymeric’s gaze.

“Hmm, well full glad am I to hear it,” he smiled and watched the tension visibly fade from the other’s shoulders. Hanze would be a lousy politician, which always amused Aymeric greatly. “You would make for a poor politician,” He grinned, catching the Warrior in his trap. It was so rare and he could not help but revel in it.

“Aymeric, _must you_?” the other nearly whined, casting a desperate look to the elezen.

“Oh, but I must. This is your comeuppance,” grinned the Lord Speaker, pinning Hanze with an icy gaze. 

“Excuse me? For what?” Hanze frowned, locking eyes with Aymeric now, daring the Ishgardian.

“Tit for tat. You catch me in my blunders, I catch you in yours,” Aymeric pressed. He would have the truth from the other. He needed to know, he had to… 

“This is very unlike you. Have you perchance had too much wine?”

“Perhaps, but there is more to what you are simply telling me, and I wish to know the truth,” Aymeric did not break his gaze.

“I _am_ telling you the truth; I do not think of you negatively. You are a good friend, Aymeric…”

“Do all your friends receive gifts and treats from you?”

“Well yes!”

“Oh?”

“Yes, there… I... well... “ a flustered huff, “Where is this coming from? Neglecting your health and me having to cart you home is not comparable to whether you can catch me in a lie or not. They are not equal.,” came the slightly whined tone.

“So you admit to the lie, then?”

“I am not lying!”

“Then you are omitting the truth.”

“I-I... “ 

Hanze broke their locked gaze and flicked his to the door, and Aymeric saw his mind whirring and calculating escape. Escape as he always did. And for a moment, Aymeric’s heart dropped, seeing he had pushed too far, asked too much. The other was skittish with his feelings, and he had pressed too hard.

But then he saw the frown and glare at the door, a flash of determination in his eyes as Hanze clenched his fist silently. Coming to an internal resolution of some sort.

“Fine. You want the truth, Aymeric?” He locked eyes again, a new flare of resolve in his eyes.

The Ishgardian wasn’t sure now that he wanted the whole truth, but he had dragged the other to this edge and they must now both look down in the yawning abyss and see what looked back; together. 

“Yes. I want the truth from you. You smile and act warm, then the next moment you are cold and aloof.”

“Because I-...” the aura huffed at himself, gathering his courage. “I fancy you, alright?”

Aymeric blinked, not comprehending the words, “Fancy me?”

A small growl, again, at himself, “I love you, you daft- insufferable fool,” he hissed again, and Aymeric could see the other’s muscles were coiled and tensed tightly, his form trembling from the effort to keep himself seated.

“I… I give you gifts and do things I believe you would appreciate because it is all I know how to do - I cannot - I am not… I hate using words. I am not as eloquent as you,” Hanze grumbled, glaring at the remnants of his supper.

Aymeric could only hear the pounding of his heart in his ears as he took the words in, slowly, one at a time. But it seemed his silence only made the other shake more and more and he made to leave, to flee once more.

Aymeric stood too, catching up to the other in a few hurried strides and grabbing his wrist to keep him from making it to the door. Hanze stopped, whipping around to stare at the other in shock.

The Ishgardian could only smile, hand sliding from the other’s wrist, to his hand, daring to lace their fingers. “I was afraid I was the only one who harbored feelings,” he offered softly, smiling warmly at the au ra, whose mind clearly went blank as it was now his turn to parse the words.

“I- you… what?”

“I love you as well… you daft, insufferable fool,” Aymeric grinned, but it quickly turned to a genuine smile when he felt the other’s fingers curl and hold his hand in return. Hanze looked away, his face bright red, and Aymeric could tell his averted gaze was more out of a shyness than anything else.

“Now, let us return to the table and have desert. You still enjoy a good Sohm Al tart, yes?” Aymeric did not pull his hand away, instead squeezing it softly.

“I do…” Hanze muttered sheepishly, which only caused Aymeric’s smile to widen. 

“Excellent!” He led the au ra back to the table, lingering for a few moments in their joined hands before parting to return to his chair. His heart never felt lighter, his chest never felt more warm than this moment. 

He loved the Warrior, and the Warrior loved him in return.


	24. Celebration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For #seaswolchallenge on tumblr.  
> -  
> Current timeline: 5.41 (following #23 Revenant)

Finally.

Finally an end to the work and the toiling. The Firmament was whole and the air was abuzz with energy as the builders finally took their ease in the celebrations and the citizens settled into their new homes. Children laughed and ran along the streets as cheers and laughter rang out over the newly restored district, carried along by a fair breeze.

Taking a moment to drink it all in, Hanze toured the new buildings that were the last to be finalized and found himself getting lost in the sea of smiles and laughter. It was… nice. 

His darkened, troubled sequester to the First seemed like such a distant memory and he allowed himself to merely… exist in the moment. The fae are really onto something, he thought. Tomorrow would always come, there was no use in fretting over it to the point of making himself sick. Francel spoke at length and Hanze couldn’t help but let his mind drift here or there, simply taking in the sights.

Many grateful smiles and words of thanks were passed along as they walked the Firmament, admiring the hard work and effort put in.

Soon after their walk, Francel bid him farewell. Ah, duty ever calling it would seem.  
-  
Admittedly, Hanze never thought himself musically inclined, but Artoirel made the composition easy enough and after fiddling with the keys, it seemed simple enough for him to not completely botch it. For once he did not let himself over think, worry, or fuss. He never put stock into music, but it certainly had a soothing and calming quality to it, and it felt nice at the keys. If only he could follow in that one artist’s footsteps; to put down the sword and take up a less violent hobby.

But it would not befit him or his station. So, to fight until his dying breath would have to keep. As the concert ended and they all took their bow, Hanze followed Francel back to the  
Mendicant’s Court and who should show up, but a familiar face Hanze had come to see more often than not lately.

Hanze and Aymeric spoke at length following their… admittedly rough and ineloquent confessions, but it still seemed to want to force a flush to the au ra’s cheeks. He folded his arms tightly across his chest and made himself busy with staring at the ground as the two Ishgardians spoke at length.

“You are a man of many talents, it would seem, Hanze…” Came that soft ring of his name and he looked up, casting a nervous glance to Francel before looking back to the Lord Speaker with a careful nod.

Hanze did not want to think Aymeric lingered on him far longer than he should have before turning back to Francel. Surely he must have imagined it. At least Aymeric looked rested and was at least getting out of his office...getting some sun. Well-

Hanze peered up at the sky; it was cloudless and sunny, but in Coerthas, the warmth of said sun was something left to be desired. Hanze barely heard Aymeric excuse himself and approach Hanze.

The au ra looked back down from the sky and watched as Francel made his way back into the deeper Firmament, leaving Aymeric and Hanze alone.

“I did not know you played piano.”

“To be fair, neither did I. Artoirel made it easy enough to read the music.”

“Perhaps one day I would be lucky enough for a private concert.”

Hanze flushed and looked around nervously, seeing if anyone had heard the obvious proposition, his muscles tensing nervously.

“Didn’t you mention you have work to be getting back to?”

“Ah, so now you wish me to languish under my paperwork?” came the bemused response.

“That is… not what I meant. I just… can we not talk like this so… publicly?” Hanze nervously rubbed his arm, sparing another glance around their immediate vicinity.

Aymeric’s smile dropped, “Let us… take this conversation elsewhere.”

“Sure,” Hanze nodded, Following Aymeric down a less traveled side street.

“Do you find shame in it?”

“The Firmament? No… I think Francel did an exceptional job-”

“In us.”

“Us?”

There was only a silent look of expectation.

Hanze paused, staring down at a flower bed, tail swishing in idle thought. “No… I just… it is new and I cannot help but worry that your choice of… other, would cause issues, raise eyebrows, whatever you want to call it. It still feels… not wrong, but I do not… I can’t…” Hanze huffed, crossing his arms once more, tail now flicking in agitation.

Aymeric furrowed his brows in worry, placing a gentle and reassuring hand on the Warrior’s shoulder, “You worry over the gossip.”

“Who wouldn’t? Ishgard is in a new renaissance and people are more… accepting, but I suppose being branded as a heretic and hunted like some deformed dragon parading as a man leaves its mark. Not to mention the slander House Fortemps and Count Edmont himself had to endure on mine and the Scions’ behalf. It’s a bitter taste that lingers in the mouth,” he admitted in a murmur.

“You do not trust… this to work?”

“I do not trust that old habits die hard for want of presumed scandalous gossip. Aymeric, I am not a born Ishgardian, I am not an elezen, I am not even a woman. There are compounding factors that could give your proponents ammunition against you, and your enemies leverage. The Church’s pseudo monarchy may be dead, but there are still deeply rooted traditional expectations to be met. Even outside of Ishgard, traditions and expectations create cultures that frown on anything considered outside of the established norm.”

Aymeric was quiet as he too looked down at the finely manicured garden of flowers.

“All that notwithstanding, I am who I am - and I could very easily snuff it-” Hanze lifted a hand from his crossed arms to snap his fingers, punctuating the point, “-just like that. Do not mistake me; I care for you deeply. Deeper than I have the words to properly express. But we cannot ignore these topics. These concerns need to be addressed.”

Aymeric slowly folded his hands behind his back and heaved a soft sigh, “I understand. Were this several years ago, and were this still the Ishgard of old, you speak true; it would never work. I would be expected into a loveless, or tolerant marriage and you would be elsewhere, away on business where I could not reach you. But that time has passed and we are in a new age of enlightenment,” he attempted to offer encouragement, looking up from the garden.

The Ishgardian moved closer to Hanze, keeping his voice low, “Hanze… those worries are behind us. There are no expectations, and my heart beats only for you. Please do not push me out due to these concerns of bygone days. We can work through them and ignore the rabble. I am willing to keep this light. I am more than happy to travel this road with you; forward.”

Aymeric smiled softly, daring to touch the au ra’s bicep, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Hanze hesitated, glancing over his shoulder briefly before taking Aymeric’s hand from his arm and lifting the knuckles to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against the cold fingers before placing Aymeric’s cool palm against his warm cheek.

“Thank you for your patience, Aymeric. I do care for you, never doubt that. There are things I am still working through...”

“Was there ever a moment I have ever doubted you?”

“Well-”

“Our first meeting does not count…”

“Okay… never has there been a moment, then.”

Sharing an amused chuckle, they dared to linger in that warm moment for several heartbeats before pulling away.

“I should return to my duties then… the paperwork has been piling up in my absence.”

“Indeed… I will be in the city a while longer. I will send word should I be required to take a timely exit.”

“Oh, by the way - I have been meaning to ask you, Hanze.”

“Mm?”

“I have been wanting a spar against you. Would you care to indulge me some time?”

“I would love nothing more,” the au ra grinned.

“Excellent! If naught else requires your attention, I look forward to it. Until then, O’ Warrior of Light,” Aymeric gave an elaborate bow before making his way out of the Firmament proper.

Hanze watched him go for several moments, simply basking in the light warmth in his chest and the gentle dance in his heart.


	25. Scion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For #seaswolchallenge on tumblr.  
> -  
> Current timeline: 5.41 (following #24 Celebration)

It was rare when the weather afforded Mor Dhona a calm, sunny day, and Hanze meant to enjoy it. He did his best to take Feo Ul’s advice to heart, but some days still loomed the dark cloud over him. It was simple enough to bat it away, act like nothing was wrong. The world was not being set on fire at that particular moment and he sat back on his hands, legs swinging over the edge of the Rathefrost idly. 

The Plasmoids flitted around him harmlessly, only occasionally stopping to buzz near his face to inspect him, perhaps. He watched the clouds go by, allowing his mind to empty, thinking of nothing and no one. His attention was only briefly caught by the familiar chime of spurs as a darkly clad figure sat themselves next to him.

Esteem did not say anything and looked up at the sky as well, propping a knee up and resting and elbow on it. The silence between them spanned for a few passing clouds before the shade spoke, “Skywatcher forecasts Gloom tomorrow.”

Hanze grimaced slightly, “Excellent to know if I linger I will have another horrible hair day.”

“Thinking of cutting it?”

“Maybe, but… some people like it,” Hanze muttered vaguely giving a shrug.

“I’m sure some very particular people do…” the shade mused, casting a wry glance towards his counterpart, but offered naught more.

A few more heartbeats of silence, a plasmoid coming to rest on Esteem’s shoulder, only to be brushed off before pitifully flitting about its business. The breeze carried gently, the warmth of the sun bathing the two. It was nice; peaceful. Esteem lowered his knee and allowed his feet to hang off the edge of the ridge as well, mirroring Hanze’s pose.

“Worried?” asked the Shade, sparing a brief glance before turning dark eyes skyward once more.

“About?” 

“Our _best friend_ and his rabies-infected dog?”

A sigh to punctuate the question briefly.

“Always. Always worried, always terrified of mistepping and losing what I have. But I cannot dwell on the tomorrow nor the yesterday. I must focus on the now and do right. I let the others worry about tomorrow, should it come to that.”

Rising to his feet, Esteem nodded, “Well… whatever tomorrow does bring - I shall be there with you and you shall be there with me.”

Hanze looked over to the shade briefly, watching as he moved to leave, watching him peel away, back into the darkness and into their shared soul.

It was quiet once more, save for the soft buzz of plasmoids or the rustle of the breeze through the bare branches of the tree above. Then came the soft footsteps. The gait was not hurried or heavy. Hanze listened to the crunch of dirt under boot, taking stock of a medium sized stride - not as small as a lalafell, not as long as an elezen or roegadyn. Well that did not narrow the field by much.

“Hanze? I was not sure I would find you out here.”

Without looking, Hanze wordlessly patted the spot Esteem had briefly occupied, glancing over as Alphinaud took it without fuss.

“Is everything alright?” Hanze looked over at the young elezen, noting how despite his body showing no age during their ordeal in the First, his eyes betrayed an older, wiser and more competent young man. He really was growing up.

“Oh yes, I suppose I let my feet wander and bring me here as I was lost in thought,” he smiled briefly, pulling his knees to his chest and resting his chin upon them.

“I come here to think and be at peace… weather permitting,” Hanze mused, turning his gaze skyward once more.

“Do you feel better?”

“Better?”

Hanze was forced to look to Alphinaud in response to the silence he had received, only to find the other looking at him expectantly. Ever the clever little diplomat, seeing past the facade. They had gone through much during the Dragonsong war, sharing in triumph and woes. Hanze always wondered if Alphinaud knew more than he let on.

Looking back over the ruined landscape of Mor Dhona, Hanze shrugged, "I suppose I do in some respects."

"I have been worried… we all have. You must never be afraid to lean on us," Alphinaud spoke softly, his tone delicate for fear of striking the wrong chord.

It struck a chord regardless, but not one of anger or ire. But the fact Alphinaud felt the need to tread carefully hurt Hanze. It was his own doing and he had to do better by them.

"I understand… it is just difficult. In the low moments, the dark thoughts trick you, making you believe anything they say. No better than Ascians… but I am well enough now. I have managed to shrug a few burdens from my shoulders - oh and Ryne and Gaia send their regards."

Alphinaud smiled softly, "Full glad am I to hear that." 

Hanze nodded, adjusting to sit forward and relieve the weight on his arms and hands. "Alphinaud? Speak plainly with me… after Vauthry… what happened?"

Alphinaud froze, and Hanze saw his muscles tense as he chewed his cheek in thought, avoiding that darkened gaze. Silence spanned for several, uncertain and tense moments before the young elezen heaved a sigh and looked over to the au ra.

"You… lost control of your senses and began to attack us. You beat several of us to near death, Thancred worst of all… and you were fit to run your lance through Alisaie next… but…"

Hanze felt the heavy weight in his stomach sink lower, twisting his gut painfully. He knew it must have been something to that effect… to think he would be driven so mad as to hurt his friends, his family…

"But?" He pressed Alphinaud gently, as the other seemed to ponder his explanation of the next sequence of events carefully.

"A… version of you? A shade wearing your face, but not the same as an Ascian. He made mention of a job crystal and assisted us in subduing you. He bore the brunt of your attacks with an ease I could not fathom."

Hanze sighed reaching into his belt pouch and pulling out the jagged Dark Knight crystal to show to Alphinaud.

"I… picked this up In Ishgard. Back during the Dragonsong War."

"So long ago?" Alphinaud's eyebrow rose as his surprise showed through unhindered.

Hanze only nodded, "It promised justice in darkness. Whispered I embrace the darkness and find peace. And then… Haurchefant… Y'sayle...I gave in fully. I let myself drown in the unending abyss of vengeance, of anger and hatred. All in the misguided illusion of justice. But what I took for the art of a Dark Knight was just me using and allowing my grief to consume me…"

"And… the shade proclaiming to be you?"

Hanze flushed, looking away sheepishly and stalling to put his crystal back.

"A product borne of my struggles. He - I - spoke true; he is me and I am he. I call him Esteem. And he's a right bastard sometimes," Hanze chuckled a bit, but the smile accompanying it did not reach his eyes.

Alphinaud nodded, "He told us not to tell you… for fear you would not be able to see our journey through."

"I never wanted to hurt you… any of you."

"Of course, we knew very well it was the Light corrupting you, driving you mad. I am just thankful Esteem stepped in when he did," Alphinaud reassured.

Hanze couldn't help the soft smile spread across his face. "Sometimes it is good to have him… and the Scions. Without you, I would have strayed from the path long ago."

Alphinaud’s shoulders slumped, “Without you… I fear the Scions would suffer a very different path. Whether for good or for ill, I am glad we are on this one. You have ever been the pillar we need in trying times. I know that should I ever falter, feel fear of the unknown, I can look over my shoulder and see you and the others there, walking the path with me, together.”

Looking up at the sky, the young elezen smiled, “After our… disagreement, despite the wounds you inflicted upon us, your apartment at the pendants was crowded for quite some time. Alisaie and the others refused to leave your bedside.”

“Is that why I woke up somewhere in the middle of the night with you and Alisaie curled around me like little courell kittens?” Hanze teased, recalling his moments of hazey consciousness to find himself flanked on either side by the twins curled against his sides.

He grinned at hearing Alphinaud’s sputter, laughing lightly at the other’s dark red cheeks. 

“W-well… we were quite tired after that ordeal…”

“Oh you needn’t make excuses, Alphinaud. It…” Now it was Hanze’s turn to flush and look away. Speaking his feelings was still difficult, but he had to do better… he had promised.

“While I will regret my loss of control, it does my heart glad to know that it did not break our bonds of friendship. I… have always thought of you and Alisaie as younger siblings, and the mere thought of you two getting injured…” Hanze sighed, reaching out and patting Alphinaud on the shoulder, offering a small smile.

Alphinaud’s smile was far brighter as he straightened up, the mirth and admiration shining in his eyes, “It does me glad to hear. Thank you. But I must be heading back… no end to our work, I’m afraid,” Alphinaud sighed, hauling himself to his feet. Hanze followed suit, reaching to easily ruffle the ivory mop of hair, only to receive a flustered bat of the hand. 

“I shall return with you. I owe Alisaie a rematch after all… and an apology for the last time.”

“I am sure she would gladly jump to another spar against you!”

“Maybe I won’t go easy on her this time,” came the teasing chuckle as they made their way back towards Revenant’s Toll.

“I am sure this will make for some excellent entertainment,” came the bemused reply.


End file.
